A Killer's Instinct
by yellowrose
Summary: When Sarah McGee is left for dead after she and her friends are attacked, will her brother be able to find the killer before the killer finds him?
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I do not claim ownership of NCIS or any of its characters.

**CHAPTER ONE**

Sarah McGee checked her duffle bag one last time. She had to admit, camping really wasn't her thing but she didn't want to tell Erik no. She definitely liked this guy…a lot…and if he wanted to go camping, then so be it! Besides, they'd be going with Sarah's best friend, Kylie and her boyfriend, Travis. Both Travis and Erik were naval petty officers and like Sarah and Kylie, best friends. Kylie had started dating Travis about a year ago then introduced Sarah to Erik a few months later and the rest, as they say, was history. Now the two couples often did things together and when Travis suggested they go camping, who was she to say no? With a sigh, she zipped up her duffle and straightened. What people do for love!

"Hey, Sarah, you ready?" Sarah turned to see Kylie standing in the doorway, dressed in jeans, sweater and hiking boots. She had no idea that Kylie even owned hiking boots! Normally, Kylie was all designer from head to toe. Even now, thought Sarah as she noted her friend's cute figure and mass of golden curls, Kylie could be modeling camping wear for the fashion conscious.

"Yeah, I'm ready," Sarah replied picking up her duffle and slinging it over her shoulder. "You sure the guys have everything?"

Kylie shrugged. "They claim they're the experts and that we should leave everything up to them. So I guess we'll find out. I just hope they don't expect us to clean fish or gut a deer!"

Sarah shuddered and laughed. "If they do, I'm heading to the closest Holiday Inn!" Laughing, both girls headed down the dormitory stairs to the parking lot where Travis and Erik waited beside Erik's Bronco. The back was jam-packed full of what appeared to be camping gear. Erik opened the back of the vehicle and shoved Sarah's duffle into the small space he'd allotted for her gear.

"Good thing you're a light packer," he grinned slamming the door shut.

"You sure you have _everything_?" asked Sarah eyeing the pile doubtfully. "I don't see the kitchen sink in there!"

"Ha!" snorted Travis opening the passenger side door. "You'll be thanking us when you don't have to sleep on the cold ground or eat grubs! We believe in camping comfortably!"

The girls exchanged glances then climbed into the back seat and the group was on its way looking forward to a fun, relaxing weekend in the woods.

David Grimes sat attentively in his seat listening to the doctor leading the group counseling session. To all outward appearances, Dave was a model patient, working hard at overcoming his problems. To many of the staff members at the Blue Ridge Mental Health Care facility, he seemed saner than most people in the outside world. He worked hard at being helpful, followed the doctors' instructions, he cooperated willingly in therapy sessions and many felt that after four years of institutional life, Grimes was ready to be released. They could not have been more wrong.

Grimes had been committed to Blue Ridge by the court after assaulting another man with a tire iron during a traffic altercation. Grimes admitted he'd been drinking after a day of financial and emotional setbacks and claimed he just snapped when the other guy's car cut him off. He'd chased the guy down, pulled him out of his car at the next stoplight and hit him with the tire iron. Fortunately, the victim's friends pulled Grimes off the guy before serious damage was done. Later, court appointed doctors had examined Grimes and diagnosed him as a mild paranoid schizophrenic. They recommended he be committed to a psychiatric hospital for treatment.

This, however, was not the first time Grimes had been committed. David Grimes was the son of an Alaskan fisherman and a schizophrenic mother who spent most of her adult life in an institution. As a young man, Grimes began to regularly get into trouble; stealing cars, burglary, minor drug dealing, and so his father, fearing his son was heading down the same road as his mother, committed the teen to institution for a couple of weeks hoping to scare him straight. Grimes _was _scared. As a teenager, he found the experience confusing and it angered him. But, Grimes was intelligent and observant. He watched what went on between patients and the doctors, noting what behaviors doctors found positive and negative. He stored this away for future reference if needed.

A few years later, Grimes found himself wandering through the dark winter streets of Anchorage, Alaska. He'd been attending school learning computer programming, something he had a talent for but the fall semester had just ended and he was at a loss as to what to do with himself now that finals were over. When a friend called and wanted to know if Grimes wanted to join him and a few old buddies for a night of drinking, Grimes readily agreed. Grimes knew that for him, drinking often led to trouble but he didn't care. School was over and he was ready to celebrate. So, the young men hit one bar after another along 4th Avenue getting more and more drunk as the night wore on. Finally, when the money ran out, they decided to call it a night and Grimes headed off to his squalid apartment near the municipal airport.

It was a cold night and Grimes found himself growing more and more irritated by the fact that he had to walk so far in the frigid, snowy conditions. He began to curse Alaska and his family for making him live in this damned icebox. Why couldn't he have a car? He deserved a car. Others far less worthy had their own cars, so why should he have to walk through the snow freezing to death? It wasn't fair. The longer he walked the angrier he became at the injustice of it all. Stumbling down an alleyway, Grimes spotted a figure huddled behind a dumpster. As he got closer the figure looked up and stared at him with dulled, bleary eyes. It was an old man, greasy gray hair down to his shoulders, wrapped in a filthy sleeping bag. Several empty vodka bottles lay scattered about.

"Hey mister," rasped the man, his voice roughened by years of smoking and alcohol abuse, "Can ya spare some change?" He held out a gnarled shaking hand hoping for some help.

Grimes froze and turned to face the man. The man's grating voice and pathetic appearance suddenly infuriated him. Unable to contain his rage any longer, Grimes launched himself with a snarl against the helpless drunk beating the man senseless first with his fists and then kicking him over and over with his steel toed work boots. How long Grimes beat the man, he couldn't say but eventually his anger spent, he stumbled backwards staring at the bloody corpse, the man's face so brutally crushed it was unrecognizable. For a moment, Grimes was horrified at what he'd done. The man had meant him no harm but then, his anger resurfaced. This sonofabitch was going to cause Grimes nothing but trouble. Damn him for being in this alley! Damn his annoying voice; this was all _his_ fault but Grimes would suffer unjustly because of it.

Fuming, he continued to stagger home to his own apartment another mile down the road where he collapsed on the sofa in a drunken stupor. Later that day, the body was discovered by a man taking out trash to the dumpster. The police were called and first following Grimes' bloody footprints then using a tracking dog, they quickly located him and arrested him for murder. He was tried for first degree murder but found not guilty by reason of insanity and sentenced to the Alaska Psychological Institute until which time the doctors deemed him no longer a threat to himself or society.

Remembering how things worked when he'd been committed previously, Grimes carefully studied his new environment, noting what the doctors wanted to hear, learning how to behave to convince them he was improving, and so on. Over the six years he was there, many of the staff claimed him to be their favorite patient and were excited to see his ongoing recovery. Not all the doctors, however, were so convinced. One of the psychiatrists that worked with Grimes, Dr. Jacob Rabinowitz, felt that Grimes was manipulating those around him and was in fact, still very dangerous. Time and time again he strenuously expressed his objections to releasing Grimes from the institution. As long as the Grimes was in a structured environment and took his drugs, he did well but Rabinowitz knew all too well that for many inmates, once they were released back onto the streets it wasn't long before old habits returned.

For several years, his arguments were successful but finally, at the end of his sixth year, Grimes was pronounced cured and released from custody. Within a few months, he had disappeared from Alaska and moved to the Lower 48. As Rabinowitz had feared, Grimes started drinking again and using other drugs. He quit taking his medication and it wasn't long before he killed again. This time, he was wasn't caught.

Over the years, he kept on the move. He killed a number of people across the country, but usually other drifters or unidentified homeless people whose disappearance caused little stir. It wasn't until he attacked the man in Virginia that he had finally been picked up. In a way, it had been a relief to be recommitted to another institution. The familiar routine was almost like a vacation for him. He didn't have to worry about a thing. All his necessities were provided for as long as he wanted and he could just relax. He knew how to play the game now and when he was ready to leave, he knew just what he would have to do to convince the doctors he was cured.

It was three years before Grimes began to feel the itch to be on the move. Until then, he had been content to stay at the facility but now he grew weary of the regimented routine and yearned to hit the bars and have some fun. So, he decided it was time to be "cured". His delusions and hallucinations gradually "disappeared"; instead of being angry and argumentative all the time he allowed himself to become more mellow and cooperative. The staff and other patients began to enjoy having him around and the doctors were pleased to finally see some progress. Grimes was fully aware his so-called recovery couldn't happen overnight so he was patient. He would take a few steps forward and then regress allowing the process to appear to occur gradually over the course of a year. Finally, at the end of his fourth year the doctors decided it was time to allow Grimes more freedom and began to give him day passes from the hospital. First it was just for a couple of hours a day but eventually progressed to twelve hours allowing Grimes to get a job as a computer programmer. He was a model patient and the doctors felt sure he would be fully released within the year. Grimes couldn't have been more pleased. Now, he was looking forward to a full weekend pass. Three days of complete freedom and he couldn't wait.

As usual, Grimes rode the small hospital van to the downtown drop off spot. It was near the local bus terminal so he could catch a bus to anywhere in town. Grimes gave a cheery wave as the hospital van drove away then with a smile he turned and began to walk. After walking several blocks, he came to a small motorcycle repair shop. It was tucked away down a small side street and although it could be hard to find, it was one of the best repair shops in town. Grimes opened a side door leading into the garage area where two men were examining a vintage Harley Davidson.

"Hey Dave!" greeted one the men, an older, grizzled looking guy covered with tattoos. His companion was a younger looking version of the first. Buck Grierson had been restoring and repairing motorcycles for 30 years, and knew his business better than almost anyone in the state. His son, Matt, was following in his father's footsteps.

"Hey," replied Grimes approaching them as he eyed the dilapidated motorcycle. "Waddaya got here?"

Buck stood up wiping grease from his hands. "A 1955 Harley Davidson WLA Flathead 45," he replied happily. "I had one of these when I was a kid. Just picked it up for next to nuthin'. Needs a lot of work, but that's fine by me." He turned to Grimes. "You gonna be able to work some this weekend? I got a coupla new bikes in that need work if you're free."

Grimes rubbed his jaw thoughtfully. "Yeah, I should be able to put in some hours this weekend. No problem."

Buck nodded. "Great. Just write your hours in the book." He then turned his attention back to his latest acquisition.

Grimes watched the two men for a few minutes longer then headed to the door at the back of the garage to parking area. Slipping through, he found himself in a covered area where an assortment of new and vintage motorcycles was stored but he was only interested in one. Near the door was a bike draped in a black vinyl drop cloth. Pulling it off he smiled as his baby, a 1947 Indian Chief motorcycle in gleaming red with yellow accents came into view. When Grimes had first found the bike, it had been barely recognizable as a motorcycle but he had to have it. It had been sitting in an old garage for the past fifty years and the guy, a collector of vintage bikes, let Grimes have it for next to nothing, happy to finally get rid of it. When Grimes took it to Buck's to see what they could do, he found the cost of restoring it was far more than he could afford but he was able to work out a deal where he could work for Buck while doing the restoration himself. It turned out to be the perfect solution. Grimes had a talent for motorcycle repair and found restoring them was equally rewarding. Buck also let Grimes camp out in a spare room in the back of the garage on the few times Grimes had been allowed out overnight. It was an arrangement that worked out for both of them.

Grimes re-covered the motorcycle then returned to the garage. He'd put in some hours today and tonight go out and party.


	2. Chapter 2

**CHAPTER TWO**

Sarah watched doubtfully as the two young men struggled to put up one of the two tents they'd brought. She and Kylie had been unpacking the other supplies from the SUV while Erik and Travis started on the tents. She began to suspect these two had never been camping in their lives. She and Kylie exchanged amused glances then attacked the other tent. It wasn't long before they had their tent up and ready to go. The two guys frowned at them in irritation.

"I thought you said you weren't a camper!" said Erik accusingly as he turned to Sarah.

"I'm not, but I was a Girl Scout for four years and we did learn how to put up a tent," smiled Sarah smugly. "Which is more than I can say for you Navy guys!"

"Ha. Ha. Ha," replied Erik still scowling. "OK, since you two are so adept, you can put up the other tent too!" He and Travis then flopped down onto the sandy ground and watched the girls expectantly.

"Fine," said Sarah with a shrug. "Then you guys can fix dinner!"

The four had driven north to Maryland to camp in the Greenbelt Park. It was less than 15 miles from Washington so they wouldn't have to spend most of their weekend driving to a more distant campground. If things didn't go well, it would be simple enough to pack up and go home.

The rangers did warn them that sometimes the weekends could get rowdy. Being so close to a large metropolitan area, the park tended to attract more than its fair share of troublemakers but they hadn't had any really serious problems so the four decided to take a chance. The ranger suggested they try one of the camping areas near the Blueberry trail. They were a little more remote and often quieter. So, off they went. They found a lovely secluded spot where no other campers had taken up residence. The weather was proving to be cool and rainy so they were hoping there wouldn't be many others camping over the weekend and they could have the area all to themselves.

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Grimes spent most of Saturday working for Buck so now he had some cash in his pocket and he was ready to party. He headed to a club where the music was loud and the drinks cheap. Two guys sitting next to them were talking to the bartender about a party they were heading to. They were trying to convince him to sell them some vodka. When the bartender seemed reluctant, Grimes added his voice to theirs until finally the man gave in and sold them a bottle.

"Thanks, man," said one of the men with a broad grin. "You aughta come with us. It'll be great!"

"Where you going?" asked Grimes trying to decide if this sounded more appealing than just hitting the local bars.

"Place 'bout 10 or 15 miles from here called Greenbelt Park. Ron here, is good friends with one of the rangers up there and they always let us in for nuthin'. And believe me, the girls always appreciate some fresh meat. C'mon it'll be a blast!"

Grimes considered this awhile longer then shrugged. Why not? "OK, give me the directions and I'll meet you there. I got some stuff I need to finish up first."

After writing down the information, Grimes went out to his Chief. He gently ran a hand along its smooth, sleek curves grinning happily. Damn, he loved this bike! He turned to the saddlebag behind the seat and opened it. Reaching in, he first pulled out an old Sony walkman tape player. He'd had it for years and refused to move on to more modern CD or MP3 players. He set it aside figuring he'd use it while working on the motorcycles. He reached back into the bag and this time he carefully pulled out a 9 mm handgun. He'd bought it shortly from some guy on the street after they started allowing him out. His smile grew hard as he thought about the weekend. Going to a park was a great idea. There were lots of people in parks. He looked at his gun again, caressing it lovingly. And some of those people did not deserve to live. He replaced the gun and nodded slowly. Yes indeed, this could be one hell of a weekend.

xxxxx

Grimes stood fuming by his motorcycle. He had made it to the park with no problem and found Ron and his group by following their loud, throbbing music. There were about ten or twelve people there including several women who seemed open to any and all who paid them attention. Grimes noticed that they occasionally disappeared into the woods with one or another of the men returning fifteen or twenty minutes later laughing and looking slightly disheveled. Well, it didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out Rick and his buddies had hired some whores to come along to provide the entertainment. Grimes took a deep swig of whiskey from the Styrofoam cup someone had handed him. He'd been drinking steadily since he'd arrived and he found his irritation mounting. God, what was he doing with this group of assholes? They were stupid and treated him like he was as stupid as they were. They had no idea.

They were sitting around a large campfire and two of the men were trying to sing some Michael Jackson song. Two others had gone off again with a couple of the women. Grimes thought about this as he watched another woman saunter over towards him with a smoldering leer on her overly made up face.

She settled down next to him and leaned in close. Grimes could smell the cigarettes and whiskey on her breath. "Hey there big fella," she cooed into his ear as she pushed her ample breasts up against his arm. "I ain't seen you here before. Maybe we should go someplace a little…quieter and get to know one another better, if you know what I mean…" She trailed off suggestively.

Grimes froze. He'd never been very comfortable with women; was never quite sure how to behave. He turned and stared hard at her then roughly grabbed her breast. The woman blinked in surprise and he could see confusion and a little fear in her eyes. "Hey!" she cried out in shock jerking away from him, "Watch it, asshole! That hurt!" He just continued to stare at her until she hurriedly climbed to her feet and moved on.

That had pretty much been the beginning of the end as far as he was concerned. The other women avoided him completely and the men all regarded him suspiciously until Ron finally came over and suggested maybe it was time to leave.

Furious and humiliated, Grimes stalked off to his motorcycle and prepared to leave. He had parked the Chief away from the other vehicles in the dark shadows of the surrounding brush. Fuming he paced back and forth as if trying to make up his mind. He should get his gun and shoot every one of those SOBs right in the head. _Every damn one of them_. He took a deep breath. No, not that would be stupid. There were too many of them. He looked around. The dreary weather had apparently kept other campers away. Too bad. He looked at his saddlebag and opened it figuring it wouldn't hurt to just check the gun. He opened the flap and frowned. The bag seemed oddly empty. He reached around and his hand felt the cold, solid metal of the gun and the box of ammo but that was it. _Where was his Walkman! _Anxiously, he looked around the ground to no avail. He began to breathe more and more heavily as his anxiety and anger both began to escalate dramatically. _Some son of a bitch had stolen his tape player!_

He stood uncertainly for a few moments, then drew out his gun with a shaking hand. He looked around. Who could have stolen it? One of the people at the party? He frowned as he thought about this. No, he didn't think so. He'd arrived after everyone else so no one saw where he hid his motorcycle and he didn't see any of them leave in this direction during the course of the evening. He began to walk through the woods. Maybe there was some hiker that stumbled onto his motorcycle and stole his Walkman. If there was, Grimes would sure as hell find him!

XXXXXXXXX

Sarah snuggled contentedly into Erik's strong arms as they all sat around a small campfire. The guys had cooked a decent dinner of hamburgers and corn on the cob, after which they'd taken a hike up Blueberry trail. Now, darkness had settled over the woods and the warmth of the fire was keeping the chill at bay. _Maybe camping wasn't so bad after all_, she thought drowsily. If only those stupid people in the other campground would turn down their loud music. She sighed looked over where she could see Travis and Kylie sitting together on the other side of the fire. All of sudden she noticed Travis looking alarmed and staring behind her.

"Hey!" said Travis in surprise and Sarah turned to see what had startled him. She felt a frisson of fear run down her back as she spied a man, his eyes wild and furious staring at them, a gun held tightly in his hand.

"_Where is it!_?" the man demanded in a harsh voice. He was breathing heavily as he glared at each of the four in turn. "_Which one of you took it_!"

"Hey man," said Erik as he slowly gained his feet. "What are you talking about? Calm down! We didn't take anything."

"LIAR!" spat the man now raising his gun and with no warning fired his weapon at Erik, a blossom of red forming in the middle of his forehead. Sarah stared in horror as Erik collapsed beside her. She wanted to scream. She wanted to run away. She wanted to be anywhere but here but she couldn't move. It was if her mind had shut down and was no longer able to control her body. She sat frozen in fear staring at Erik's body sprawled at her feet.

"I'm not gonna repeat myself," snarled the man again. "_Where it it!"_

"Please!" said Travis, his voice shaking, "We don't know what you're talking about! Maybe if you tell us what you lost we can help you find it."

"We're telling you the truth," said Kylie desperately."Please, don't hurt us!"

The man just stared at her. He knew she was lying. They were all liars. He lifted the gun and three more shots rang out in the cool, damp night.


	3. Chapter 3

**CHAPTER THREE**

Tim McGee looked up as the elevator doors slid open. He'd been thinking about the online game he'd been playing all weekend. He was exhausted having stayed up half the night trying to achieve the next level. He shook his head ruefully as he settled himself at his desk. Would he never learn?

"Hey, McGeek!" greeted Tony looking at him in amusement. "Looks like you been up all night fighting the evil overlords of the underworld again."

Tim actually looked a little abashed that the cause of his exhaustion was so easily pinpointed. He decided not to say anything. It would just egg Tony on.

"Oh leave McGee alone, Tony," said Ziva as she entered the bullpen, her backpack slung over her shoulder. "I do not understand this fascination with computer games, but if it makes him happy, why should you care?"

"Because it's not normal for a grown man to play games like that," countered Tony. "Pretty soon, he'll start playing Pokemon cards and running a comic book store. He'll gain a bunch of weight, wear his hair in a pony tail, move back into his parents' basement and all that high falutin' education will be for naught."

"That seems a little extreme, don't you think Tony?" asked McGee with a shake of his head.

"Well you DO own comic books, don't you Probie?"

McGee sighed in resignation. "Yes, Tony, I do and as I've told you before, some of them are very valuable."

"Ah," continued Tony as if he hadn't heard anything beyond the 'yes', "I rest my case. You are well on your way to becoming the worst Comic Book Guy ever."

"Well, we're on our way to Greenbelt Park," announced Gibbs striding into the room. "Four people shot, including two petty officers so grab your gear and let's get moving."

XXXXXXXXXX

When the team arrived at the Maryland park, they had to show their ID before being allowed to enter. There were police cars everywhere it seemed with the greatest concentration in the parking area near the campgrounds. The NCIS van pulled in followed by Ducky and Palmer in the medical examiner's van and parked as close as possible to where they could see the yellow crime scene tape. A man stood watching them and approached the van as Gibbs and his team climbed out.

"One of you Special Agent Gibbs?" the man asked studying the group.

"Yeah," replied Gibbs pulling out his shield and ID. "That's me."

The man nodded. "I'm Detective John Mezzetti with the Greenbelt PD."

Gibbs nodded as the detective started leading the team back towards the campgrounds. Police were everywhere, but all were standing outside the marked area leaving the chore of collecting evidence to the NCIS team. McGee and Ziva, cameras in hand, headed to where they could see several bodies lying near two small tents. Ducky and Palmer followed close behind.

Gibbs and Tony turned their attention back to Murrow. "So, whataya got?" asked Gibbs as Tony pulled out a small notebook.

Mezzetti glanced at the bodies and shook his head sadly. "Ranger found them this morning when he was making his morning rounds. At first he thought they'd fallen asleep outside but then realized something didn't look right. He didn't touch the bodies but found the IDs in the tents. Two young men, Petty Officer Travis Montgomery and Petty Officer Erik Hoffman were killed instantly. Gunshot wounds to the head. The two girls, according to their student IDs, are students at Waverly College. One of the girls, Kylie Williams was shot in the chest and was able to crawl towards the tent before expiring from a second shot to the head. The second girl, Sarah McGee was shot in the head and was still alive when we got here. She's on her way to the Doctor's Community Hospital in Lanham."

Murrow paused, detecting an abrupt change in the two NCIS agents beside him. DiNozzo had stopped taking notes and mouth open, was staring at the police detective in obvious shock. Gibbs had gone very still, the tightening of his jaw the only discernable movement.

"Is…is there something wrong?" Mezzetti asked finally, his brow furrowed in confusion.

Tony glanced at Gibbs then swallowed. "Did you say Sarah _McGee_?"

Mezzetti looked down at his notes. "Uh, yeah. Sarah McGee, nineteen years old, sophomore at Waverly College. Do you know her?"

Now Gibbs and DiNozzo shifted their focus towards the rest of the team who were huddled around the bodies. "Yeah," said Gibbs tightly. "She's the sister of one of my agents. Timothy McGee."

"Shit," breathed the detective softly, following their gaze. "I'm really sorry to hear that."

"Yeah," sighed Gibbs, "Me too."

XXXXXXXXXX

Tim circled the campground with his camera, photographing every aspect of the crime scene. He tried not to look at the victims. He was used to dead bodies, but something about these three seemed especially troubling to him. They were so young, and the girl reminded him uncomfortably of his younger sister, Sarah. He stepped inside the nearest tent and began to photograph the contents. As he focused in on the items at the back of the tent, he froze. Lowering the camera he stared at a black and white striped duffle bag crammed in one corner. He'd seen that bag before, he was certain of it. He stepped closer, frowning in concentration as he tried to remember where he'd seen that duffle in the past. It was certainly distinctive enough. Then, he spotted the ID tag. It was in the shape of Jack Skellington from the popular movie, _Nightmare Before Christmas_. That was his sister's favorite movie of all time and Tim had given her a tag just like it last Christmas. He began to feel very cold and a tight ball was forming in his gut as he slowly reached over and flipped the tag over to read the name written there: Sarah McGee.

Tim just stared, frozen in place. What was Sarah's bag doing here? He began to breathe faster and faster as the realization cut through the fog that had engulfed his mind. _Sarah! She'd been here! _

Tim burst out of the camp, eyes wide. "_Sarah!_" he screamed as he began to frantically search the area. "_Sarah!_" Ziva, Ducky and Palmer looked up in shock as Tony and Gibbs sprinted over.

"McGee!" cried Gibbs trying to get his agent's attention before he destroyed the crime scene in his desperation. Gibbs grabbed McGee and whirled him around to face him. "McGee!" snapped Gibbs again giving Tim a shake. "_Look at me_!"

Tim fought against his panic, trying to bring his rapid breathing under control as he brought his gaze up to meet Gibbs'. "Boss," he sobbed. "Sarah…my sister…she was _here_! We gotta find her!"

"Tim," said Gibbs in a slow calm voice never breaking eye contact, "We know where Sarah is. She was wounded, but she's still alive. Do you understand me? _Sarah is still alive_. She's at the Doctors Community hospital in Lanham."

Still fighting for breath, Tim stared at Gibbs as the significance of his words finally sunk in. "She…she's alive?" he finally managed in a small voice.

"Yes, she's alive," repeated Gibbs firmly as he noted a little color returning to McGee's face. "And you and I are heading over to the hospital right now." He glanced over to the rest of his team who were regarding Gibbs with horror. "DiNozzo, you're in charge. Finish with the scene, collect the evidence and get it to Abby. Call me if there's anything I need to know. I'll be at the hospital with McGee."

Tony nodded numbly and watched as Gibbs ushered McGee back to the parking area.

"Is it true?" Ziva asked softly turning to Tony. "McGee's sister was one of the victims?" Ducky and Palmer also turned.

"Yeah," grunted Tony continuing to stare towards the parking lot. "LEO said she was the only one still alive when the ranger found the bodies. Shot in the head." He paused as he remembered McGee's spirited younger sister. She'd been suspected of murder the first time he'd met her, and McGee had risked his entire career to protect her. The siblings were close and Tony hated to think what this would do to Probie if she didn't make it.

"Poor Timothy," sighed Dr. Mallard with a mournful shake of his head. "I pray his sister will survive. It will be very hard on him if she does not. Come along, Mr. Palmer. Let us get these remaining unfortunates back to autopsy. Such a waste of young life." Slowly he turned and returned to the three bodies behind them, Jimmy Palmer following close behind. Ziva stood beside Tony a moment longer then returned to her job recording the crime scene.

Tony remained in place. He couldn't help but think of poor Tim. He could literally feel McGee's panic as he burst out the tent once he realized Sarah had been there. They'd had other cases that had hit uncomfortably close to home but for some reason this one felt different. All he could do was pray that Sarah would be all right and that they would find the killer before he struck again.

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A/N Just trying to get a few of these chapters up before it gets too hectic here with the holidays quickly closing it. This story was kind of an experiment in incorporating some incidents from an actual crime. Anyway, thanks for reading and I hope you enjoy it.


	4. Chapter 4

**CHAPTER FOUR**

McGee sat in silence as Gibbs maneuvered the car through the crowded parking lot of the Doctors Community Hospital. Gibbs had considered dropping McGee off so he could go in while Gibbs searched for a space, but decided it was better if he was there to keep any eye on the younger man. Gibbs could tell McGee was barely keeping his fear and anxiety reined in, and he didn't want him to lose control. Finally, he found a place, and the two hurried into the emergency room entrance. Gibbs went to the admitting desk.

"I'm NCIS Special Agent Gibbs," he said flashing his shield and ID, "And this is Special Agent McGee. His sister was brought in recently, gunshot victim. We need to find out her condition."

The woman studied the badge and noted the obvious strain on McGee's face and nodded. "I'll be right back," she said and disappeared into the back. To McGee, it seemed an eternity before she finally returned. "Special Agent Gibbs, Sarah McGee is currently in surgery. It may be awhile before we have any news for you."

Gibbs nodded. He could feel McGee tense beside him as if he were going to explode. "C'mon, Tim," he said softly, grabbing McGee's arm. "Let's go get some coffee. There's nothing we can do right now." He guided McGee to the small cafeteria, sat him down at a table and returned a few minutes later with two cups of coffee. He placed one in front of McGee and studied his agent's pale, anxious face.

"She's gonna be OK, Tim," said Gibbs quietly. "She's tough. You know that. Now, you've got to pull yourself together and do _your_ job. The best way to help Sarah is find the sonofabitch who did this."

For the first time, McGee looked directly at Gibbs. "You're gonna let me work the case?" he asked in surprise.

Gibbs nodded. At first he thought it might be better to take McGee off the investigation. He was too close to it and when emotions ran high, mistakes are made, but at the same time he knew McGee would find a way to continue working it regardless. Gibbs figured it was better to let McGee stay where Gibbs could keep an eye on him. "Yeah, but I don't want you goin' off half-cocked, you understand? If you're gonna stay on this case, you do exactly what I tell you to."

For a moment, McGee looked as if he would protest but in the end he nodded his agreement. "All right." He closed his eyes as his shoulders slumped. "God, what am I gonna tell my parents?" he whispered rubbing his aching head.

"Wait until we have some news," suggested Gibbs starting to get his feet. "The more you can tell them the better."

"I guess." McGee slowly rose from his seat. "I…I just don't what I'll do if she dies." He wiped a few tears from his face. He didn't want to look weak in front of Gibbs but he couldn't help it. Gibbs patted him on the shoulder and led the way back to the waiting room.

It was several hours more before the doctor came out looking for them. "You are Sarah McGee's brother?" he asked Tim as he showed them into a small room off the waiting area.

"Yes," replied McGee staring hopefully at the doctor still clad in his surgical scrubs. "My sister…will…will she be OK?"

The doctor rubbed his eyes. He was exhausted. "Agent McGee, your sister is alive but sustained a serious head wound. The bullet was lodged in the brain and we were able to remove it, but at this time I can't tell you how much damage was done. Brain injuries are tricky things. A simple concussion can have grave results yet a serious wound like your sister's can result in almost no brain damage at all. Until she regains consciousness, we won't know. She is currently in a coma, and we have no idea how long that might last. I wish I had more definitive news for you, but for the time being, all we can do is wait and see. Right now, inflammation and infection are our biggest concerns."

McGee could feel himself shaking as he wrapped his arms around himself. He had never been so scared in his entire life. "Can I see her?"

"For just a moment," the doctor replied. He led McGee back to the recovery area where he could see a small figure lying on a gurney within a small curtained area. McGee approached hesitantly, not sure he was ready to see his sister like this. He felt his throat tighten and tears spring to his eyes as he took in her pale face, dark bruises under her eyes and her head heavily swathed in bandages. Various monitors beeped quietly nearby.

"Oh Sarah," he moaned softly as he gently took her cold hand in his. "Please don't give up! I love you and I can't lose you. Please, Sarah, be OK." He continued to hold her hand and pray silently in his head when he felt a hand softly rest on his shoulder. A nurse stood there regarding him apologetically.

"I'm sorry Mr. McGee," she said quietly. "But it's time for you to go."

McGee nodded then turned his attention to his sister. He leaned forward and gently kissed her on the cheek. "Don't you worry, Sarah," he whispered into her ear. "I'll catch the bastard that did this to you. You just hang in there. I love you." He stood erect, gave her hand one last squeeze and allowed the nurse lead him back to the waiting area.

Gibbs watched McGee return to the waiting room and noted a change in the young man's demeanor. There was a look of grim determination. "You OK, Tim?" he asked carefully.

"Yeah Boss, I'm OK," said McGee heavily. "I need to call my parents and let them know what's happened. I need to stay until they can get here and stay with Sarah." Now he turned to Gibbs, a fierce anger burned behind his gaze. "Then I wanna nail the son of a bitch that did this."

XXXX

McGee slowly snapped his cell phone shut. He felt utterly drained. He had just called his parents in Florida to tell them about Sarah. It had been the hardest phone call he'd ever had to make. _Well, at least I didn't have to tell them she was dead_, he mused wearily. His mother had almost become hysterical. All the years of being a Navy wife had prepared her for the possible loss of her husband, but never for her child. His dad assured them they would be on the first flight they could get to D.C.

McGee sighed heavily, stood and stretched. He considered going to the cafeteria to find something to eat but decided he wasn't hungry. He just wished they would let him back with Sarah. The doctor told him that once she was moved into intensive care, they would allow him to visit again, but that had been a couple of hours ago. The delay was making him antsy.

He looked around and spied Gibbs at the opposite side of the room talking on his own cell phone. Was it about the case? Could they have found the murderer already? McGee considered that. Part of him would rejoice to know they had caught the culprit, yet another part would be sorely disappointed that he couldn't have been the one to nail the asshole. He closed his eyes and took another deep breath. He felt as if he couldn't get enough oxygen into his system. None of this felt real.

"Tim?" McGee opened his eyes to find Gibbs regarding him in concern. "You doin' OK?"

"Yeah, Boss," replied McGee rubbing his eyes. They felt full of grit. "I'm fine. My parents are on their way. Should be here later tonight."

Gibbs nodded and settled down into the seat beside him. "Just talked to DiNozzo. Said there was another party going on in one of the other campgrounds. He's trying to track down who was there. Maybe they heard or saw something."

McGee said nothing for a long time before finally speaking. "Boss, you don't have to stay here with me. I'll be fine. I'm sure you have better things to be doing."

Gibbs again regarded his agent solemnly. "Tim, I can't think of anyplace I'm needed more than right here."

Tim ducked his head not wanted Gibbs to see the raw emotion there. "Thanks, Boss," was all he said.

XXXX

Tony pulled the agency sedan into its parking place in the garage. He sat silently for several long moments as did Ziva beside him.

"If she dies," said Tony finally, "It's gonna kill McGee. You know how protective he is of her."

Ziva nodded thinking back to the day that her own sister, along with their mother, was killed by a car bomb in Jerusalem. She had wanted to kill herself. It was one of the things that had ultimately fueled her desire to excel as an agent of the Mossad, much to her father's delight. Sometimes Ziva wondered if Eli had engineered their deaths for just that purpose. Their deaths still haunted her.

"We must do everything we can to find who did this," replied Ziva quietly.

Tony nodded. "Yeah, c'mon, let's get this stuff to Abby. I don't know if she knows one of the victims is McGee's sister."

The two agents walked into the forensics lab to the sound of heavy metal rock pounding in their ears. Abby was happily preparing samples to put in her mass spectrometer. She looked up and grinned as Tony and Ziva entered.

"Hey guys!" she said slugging down a gulp of her Caf-Pow. "Whataya got for me?" Suddenly she stopped and studied them with a frown. "Something's wrong," she said noting their grim faces. "What is it?" Her eyes went wide. "Not Gibbs or McGee is it? Oh please tell me they're OK!" She rushed over and tightly gripped Tony's arm causing him to wince in pain.

"No Abby, Gibbs and McGee are OK but um, yeah, something is wrong." Tony exchanged troubled glances with Ziva as Abby began to dance impatiently still pulling on his arm. Tony sighed. "One of the shooting victims is Sarah McGee. She's still alive but in a coma. They don't know if she's gonna make it or not."

Abby went very still as she digested this information then began to slowly shake her head in dismay. "Oh no," she whispered, tears glistening in her kohl-rimmed eyes. "Poor McGee! How is he?"

Tony shrugged. "He nearly went nuts when he realized Sarah had been at the campsite but calmed down a little when we were able to tell him that at least she was alive. Gibbs took him to the hospital. The boss just called me a little while ago with the update."

Abby frowned as she collapsed onto her stool. "Is Gibbs gonna let McGee work this case?"

"Yeah," nodded Tony. "Gibbs realized he couldn't stop him and figured it was better to have McGee where he could keep an eye on him.

"Oh Tony," said Abby tears now flowing freely. "What's gonna happen to Tim if she dies?"

"We must hope it does not come to that," replied Ziva firmly. "Now, we must find who did this and stop them from doing it again."

XXXXXX

Grimes sat in the TV room of the hospital watching the news. He'd decided it might be wiser to return then spend the night at the garage. A small, pleased smile played around the corners of his mouth. An attractive newswoman stood in front of the camera with a campground behind her. She had just started reporting on the murder of several people in Greenbelt Park.

_Rangers found the bodies of four gunshot victims early this morning at the Blueberry Trail campground in the popular Greenbelt Park here in Lanham. Two young naval petty officers, Travis Montgomery and Erik Hoffman as well as a Waverly College student, 19 year old Kylie Williams were reported dead at the scene. A fourth victim, Waverly student Sarah McGee, was gravely wounded but is reportedly still alive. So far there are no witnesses to the massacre of these innocent young people. If anyone has information on this crime, please contact the Naval Crime Investigative Services or the Greenbelt Police Department. _

The reported continued on awhile longer but Grimes had stopped listening. _One of the girls had survived! Shit. _That was going to complicate things. She could identify him to the cops. He frowned. Wait, the news reporter had mentioned something to do with the Navy. He turned to the orderly who was sitting nearby also watching the report. "Hey, Larry," called Grimes, "What did that lady say about navy crimes?"

Larry glanced over at Grimes and shrugged. "Naval Crimel Investigative Services," he replied, "NCIS. They investigate crimes that involve navy or marine personnel or their families. Since two of the victims were in the Navy, stands to reason NCIS would be called in. Could be the girls were connected to the navy or marines somehow too."

"Hmph," grunted Grimes thoughtfully. He needed to find out more about that girl, Sarah McGee. The news said she was a student at Waverly. He pursed his lips thoughtfully. He could hack into their records, find out her next of kin or other information that would allow him to get close to her in the hospital and get rid of her. It was a thought anyway. He thought about the people at the party. He'd never told anyone his name and most of them were so wasted, it was unlikely they'd remember much about him. Nothing he could do about them anyway, but Sarah McGee knew he was the one that shot her and her friends and was far more of a threat.

That evening, Grimes logged onto his computer and began to dig. He had long ago figured out how to get past all the restrictions and filters the hospital had on their internet connection so could pretty much access anything he wanted. It took him awhile but he finally got into Sarah McGee's records at Waverly. He made note of her residence hall, home address in Florida, parents' names and name of her brother, Timothy McGee. He was listed as the person to contact in case of emergency. There were two numbers, his cell and work numbers but no listing of his actual work place. Grimes tilted his head as he considered this. He wondered where Timothy McGee worked. Maybe that could be another important bit of information he could use.

Even though it was late, he decided to call the work number and see what happened. His eyebrows shot up as he listened to the voice mail message: _You have reached the desk of NCIS special agent Timothy McGee. Please leave a message at the tone and I will get back to you as soon as possible._

Grimes quickly hung up the phone feeling oddly excited. _Well, well, well. Ms. McGee's brother was part of the organization investigating the murders. He could have some fun with this_!

xxxxxxxxxx

A/N: Thanks so much for the reviews! This may be the last update for a couple of days but have no fear, there is more to come.


	5. Chapter 5

**CHAPTER FIVE**

Tim's parents arrived around nine that night. Gibbs stood back and watched as Tim explained the situation. He smiled inwardly as he observed Tim, who just a short while ago was barely holding together, now had to be the strong one. McGee could be tough when he had to be. The doctor came out shortly after their arrival and took them all in to see Sarah. A few moments later, Tim returned, pale but calm.

"They didn't want too many people in the ICU at one time," Tim explained quietly.

"How's she doing?"

McGee shrugged. "Same as before. In a coma. Until she wakes up…if she wakes up, we won't know anything."

Gibbs laid a hand on Tim's shoulder. "She _will_ wake up."

McGee smiled briefly then scowled. "All I want to do is catch the bastard that did this."

"Don't worry, Tim, we will."

The McGees reappeared a while later. "We're going to head to the hotel and get some sleep," said Tim's father wearily. Tim thought he looked ten years older. "They won't let us stay with Sarah until they move her out of ICU, so we might as well get some rest."

Tim's mother was wiping her eyes trying to smile as Tim put his arms around her. "Don't worry Mom," he said softly. "Sarah's tough. She'll be OK."

Mrs. McGee sobbed softly into his shoulder for several long moments until she finally pushed herself away. Tim regarded her with concern. "Don't you worry, Tim," she said again wiping her eyes, again trying to smile. "I'll be all right. But what about you? Are you coming with us?"

Tim shook his head. "No, I'll go back to my apartment tonight and go into the office tomorrow. I can do more good trying to find the monster who did this."

"You do that, son," said his father fiercely. "You find the son of a bitch that did this and nail his sorry ass to the wall."

"Don't worry, Dad," replied Tim a low voice. "I plan to do just that."

Tim walked out with his parents to the parking garage and saw them to their car. He watched them drive off then turned to find Gibbs standing across the garage waiting for him.

"You _are_ going to let me work this case, right Boss?" Tim asked as they headed to their own car. "You haven't changed your mind? You know I won't stay out of this one."

"I know," said Gibbs. "As long as you do as I say, you can stay on the case. But I won't have you jeopardizing it by not following orders. Understood?"

"Understood."

XXXXX

Gibbs was hardly surprised the next morning to find McGee there before him. If he hadn't dropped the younger man off at his home in Silver Springs, Gibbs would have suspected McGee spent the night at his desk.

McGee had already run extensive background checks on the three victims looking for any possible reason for their deaths. In his gut, he suspected it was a case of being at the wrong place at the wrong time, but he had to cover all his bases. If there was something in their backgrounds that might have led to Sarah being shot, he _would _find it.

"Find anything?"

Startled, McGee knocked his mouse to the floor. He had been so immersed in his work, he never even heard the elevator open. Gibbs studied his agent. He doubted McGee slept a wink last night.

"Uh, no Boss," mumbled McGee reaching down for his mouse. "I can't find anything significant in the backgrounds of Petty Officers Montgomery or Hoffman and besides having a few unpaid speeding tickets, Kelsie Williams is clean." He slumped back in his chair, running his hand through his hair. "I even checked out Sarah in case there was something I didn't know about. Nothing that would explain why they were… shot." His voice cracked just slightly as he looked away. Gibbs put a sympathetic hand on his shoulder.

"Don't worry, Tim," he said firmly. "We'll find out who did this."

With a deep sigh, McGee nodded and began to go through the crime scene documentation.

An hour later, Tony and Ziva arrived. They felt a little guilty seeing McGee and Gibbs already hard at work. Even though they had actually come in early, it was obvious those two had been in the office for some time.

Hesitantly, Tony approached McGee. "Hey Tim, I'm really sorry about what happened to Sarah," he said quietly. "How is she?" Ziva also approached McGee, her eyes dark with concern.

For a moment, Tim didn't move then slowly looked up. "I called this morning. Still no change. She's still in a coma." Blinking rapidly, he quickly returned his gaze to the paperwork before him. Ziva and Tony exchanged unhappy glances.

"Don't worry, Tim," said Tony, "She's tough. She'll be OK. You'll see."

Still not looking up, McGee smiled briefly. "Thanks Tony." Slowly, Tony and Ziva turned and headed back to their desks.

"DiNozzo," called Gibbs getting to his feet. "You find out anything about that other party that was going on at the campground."

Tony gathered his paperwork. "I talked to the ranger on duty that night, Boss. Brad Huntley. He knew one of the guys at the party, guy named Ronald Spratt. Seems our Ranger Brad lets Ron and his buddies use the campground for parties if it's not busy. Spratt works for a cross-country trucking company called TransAmerican Shipping. He left Monday morning for a run to California and isn't supposed to return until Friday."

"We need to get in touch with him a lot sooner than that," snapped Gibbs. "Tell his dispatcher we need to talk to Spratt immediately."

"On it, Boss."

"Ziva, did you get the crime scene evidence to Abby?"

"Yes, Gibbs," replied Ziva quickly. "She is working on it now, but there was not much to go on."

Gibbs glanced over at McGee who was listening attentively. "Okay, I'm going to go down and talk to Ducky. McGee, See what you can find on Ronald Spratt and I'd check into Ranger Brad as well. Just in case. Ziva, check with Abby and see if she's got anything on the murder weapon. "

McGee nodded and immediately turned to his computer. Gibbs knew right now, keeping busy was the best thing for McGee. Getting to his feet, he headed for the elevator and autopsy.

XXXXX

Dr. Mallard looked up from his paperwork as Gibbs walked in. "Ah, Gibbs, I wondered when you would make your appearance."

Gibbs smiled quickly. "Whataya got for me Duck?"

Ducky got slowly to his feet. "How is McGee?" he asked as he gathered up his folders.

Gibbs sighed. "He's keeping it together, Duck."

"I know how close he is to his sister." Ducky sadly shook his head. "Keeping busy and working to find the killer is probably the best therapy for him right now." He now looked directly at Gibbs. "As long as you can keep him from going off half-cocked, especially once you have identified the killer."

"Yeah Duck, I know," replied Gibbs wearily. "Believe me, I understand the desire to get revenge when someone hurts the ones you love." He gave himself a little shake as if to bring himself back to the present. "You finish the autopsies on the three victims?"

"Yes, but they won't help you much, I'm afraid." Ducky looked at the papers in his hand. "Petty Officer Hoffman was shot in the head probably from a distance of about ten feet; death was immediate. The same is true of Petty Officer Montgomery. Miss Williams was shot twice, first in the chest which may have happened as she was trying to escape, but then a second shot to the skull from point blank range killed her. We know that Sarah McGee was also shot in the head. Death was all about the same time so it happened quickly. Given the positions of the bodies, I would say the young men were shot first followed by the women. Whoever did this, Jethro, had no qualms about carrying out the cold blooded murder of four unarmed, young people. I sincerely doubt this is the first time this person has killed nor do I believe it will be the last."

XXXXXXX

That evening, Tim stopped by the hospital to see Sarah and his parents. His mother looked exhausted, and he could tell his father was doing his best to be strong for all of them. Tim stood silently by Sarah's bed in ICU just staring at her pale, bruised face. As he listened to the rhythmic pulsing of the various machines, he could feel the anger building up inside of him. He would get the bastard that did this and kill him himself.

He thought of all the times he had defended Sarah. They had moved a lot as kids and it wasn't always easy to fit in. Sarah could have a sharp tongue and acerbic wit that often resulted in her being threatened by other kids. He, on the other hand, had had his own problems, usually being labeled an intellectual geek. However, if someone threatened his sister, he would immediately rise to her defense. He got beat up more times than he cared to count on her account, but every bruise and contusion had been worth it if kept her safe. But this time, he had failed. He hadn't been there to protect her. Sure, he knew he was being unreasonable. Sarah was a young adult now, living her own life, and she certainly wouldn't appreciate her big brother acting as some kind of annoying body guard. Besides, if those two young sailors couldn't protect her and Kylie Williams, what made him think he could? Still, he couldn't but help feel he'd failed her. Now, all he could do was find her killer and make sure he never hurt anyone again.

"Have any luck tracking down who did this, Tim?" asked his father a short time later as they walked together to the cafeteria. His mom couldn't bear to leave Sarah.

Tim shook his head in frustration. "No Dad, not yet. We're trying to track down some people that were at another campground to see if they might have seen anything, but so far, we haven't been able to even figure out a motive for this."

"Drugs, maybe?" ventured the elder McGee. "Maybe he shot them hoping they had drugs or something he could sell for drugs?"

Tim shrugged. "That's certainly possible. We're checking every lead and all possibilities. It's just gonna take some time." He sighed wearily. "If Sarah woke up, she could probably give us a good description of the guy. That would help a lot. Until then, we're working blind."

"Well son," said Michael McGee, "We have trust in you and your team. I know you'll do your damndest to find this sonafabitch and bring him to justice." He paused then turned to look at his son. "But remember Tim, it is not your place to be judge, jury and executioner. Your job is to bring the killer in and build a solid case against him so they'll put him away for good."

Tim could feel himself tense as he met his father's gaze. "Yeah Dad," he said softly. "I know." _But I don't believe it. If I have the chance, I'll blow him to kingdom come, and I won't lose a minute's sleep over it._


	6. Chapter 6

**CHAPTER SIX**

McGee dragged himself home and collapsed on his sofa. He was exhausted. He hadn't slept at all last night and the stress of the situation had finally caught up with him. He wanted to go back to the office and keep working, but he realized that in his current state, he wasn't much good for much. He couldn't afford to mess up anything in this case.

He looked at his watch. It was just past eleven. He decided to take a quick shower, check his email, then go to bed. He wanted to be in the office early. Twenty minutes later found him stationed in front of his computer just starting to check his email. There must have been a hundred messages, most of which were hardly pressing. As his eyes skimmed the list, the subject heading of one email caught his attention. It was about halfway down and was simply listed as "Sarah". He frowned, not recognizing the sender's email address but clicked on it anyway. The email promptly opened and he waited as a photo began to load. His frowned deepened as the image formed, then his entire body went cold – it was a photo of Sarah in her hospital bed.

Tim stared at it in shock. Where did this come from? Who took it? He scrolled down a little further to find a brief message. _I could have just as easily taken her life as this picture. _That was all it said. Tim's heart was now pounding in his chest. That bastard had gotten into the hospital! They had to get security there and now! As Tim's exhausted brain struggled to formulate a coherent plan, there was the soft ding of an instant message. Tim looked at the screen in surprise. The message was from KILLER123. McGee's eyes went wide as fury began to course through his body. He opened the message.

_Got the photo, Agent McGee?_

Furiously, Tim began to type. Who the hell are you?

_That would be telling. But I have to say, your sister is hot!_

Stay away from my sister!

_That little shortie hospital gown…those long, smooth legs…_

McGee could feel himself losing control. The mere thought of this animal even looking at his sister with these filthy thoughts was driving him crazy.

_Still there Agent McGee? You know, I could have done anything I wanted to her. And maybe I did. Things can happen fast when the girl is as hot as your sister. _

"NO!" snarled McGee slamming his hand down on his desk. He could barely breathe as waves of nausea swept over him. He looked wildly around the room. What to do? He _had _to find this bastard and stop him. Panting hard, it hit him – follow the messages. He could trace the messages back to where they came from and go get this guy now, tonight and put an end to this once and for all.

Frantically, he pounded on the keyboard following the trail from one server to another. He was a pro and could do this as easily as turning on the TV. After all, not many could say they had successfully hacked into the CIA's ultra-secure servers. He barely read the increasingly crude messages that kept coming. He was feeling sick and angry enough, he couldn't afford to be distracted any further.

Finally, he traced the messages as coming from a computer in D.C. It appeared to be an address in Anacostia, one of the worst neighborhoods of the city. At this time of night, McGee estimated it would take him thirty or forty minutes to get there. Throwing on some clothes, McGee sped out through the door. Right now, he had one thought and one thought only : find and kill KILLER123.

XXXXXXXXX

McGee cruised down the dark street studying the area carefully. There was a light drizzle and few of the street lights were working, their shattered bulbs testament to the area's decay. The area resembled a war zone more than a neighborhood, with a number of boarded up houses and abandoned storefronts. The address McGee had pulled up was a decrepit Victorian that although looked as abandoned as the other houses in the neighborhood, had one faint light glowing in an upper window. McGee pulled up about half a block from the building and stopped the car. He stared hard at the house. He had no doubt that KILLER123 was still there, waiting for him.

He reached down and pulled out his gun, checking the weapon carefully. His face was grim and his resolution set. He hesitated, thinking maybe he should call for backup. He felt for his phone and froze. _Damn. _He suddenly pictured his phone back home in its charger. He frowned for just a moment. Well, the hell with it. He wasn't going to pass up an opportunity to nail this guy.

He took a deep breath, opened the car door and slipped out, his gun firmly in his hand. He knew he was being stupid. No intelligent cop goes in without backup, but McGee could still picture KILLER123's disgusting words in his mind. He shook his head as if that would dispel the foul images. He had to protect Sarah, and if he had to go in by himself, then so be it. There wasn't time to try and find a pay phone. He had to get this guy now.

Silently, he crept towards the house, keeping to the darkest shadows as much as possible. He was grateful for the lack of light figuring it would keep him hidden from anyone watching from the building ahead. He carefully studied the house as he climbed the ramshackle steps to the remains of a front porch. McGee paused before the front door listening hard for any sounds within. It was silent except for the sound of traffic on a nearby highway and the light patter of rain. Standing to one side, he a deep breath, and reached for the knob on the front door. It turned easily and the door slowly swung open. Now McGee could hear the sound of a radio or TV upstairs. He licked his lips nervously, every nerve in his body alert for any signs of danger. His gun held out before him, McGee cautiously stepped inside and paused, still listening.

The entry hall was pitch black although the faint glow from upstairs allowed McGee to make out a little of the space before him. Still holding his gun tightly, he reached into his jacket pocket and was relieved to find his small flashlight. Pulling it out, he flicked it on and found himself facing a steep set of stairs leading to the second floor. He took a few more steps towards the stairs peering upwards. As he was about to step onto the first riser, a slight creak behind him caused him to whirl around, He could just make out a pair of dark eyes peering at him through the holes of a ski mask. "FREEZE" shouted McGee trying to get his gun in line but suddenly he spied a flash of something coming towards him and with an explosion of pain, his world went black.

Grimes stood watchfully for a few moments, making sure the NCIS agent now lying sprawled on the floor wasn't about to get back up. He reached down and picked up the agent's gun, slipping it into his own pocket as he set aside the baseball bat. A small pool of blood was forming around the unconscious agent's head and with a frown, Grimes reached down and felt for a pulse. Good. He hadn't killed him. He was worried he'd hit McGee a little too hard. He still had plans for this guy, and he didn't want his fun spoiled too quickly. He reached down and picking up McGee under his arms, Grimes awkwardly dragged the agent to the back kitchen and down the steep basement stairs.

It had been a stroke of good luck finding this place. Grimes used to know the drug dealer that worked out of the old house. When he'd come around one day looking for the guy hoping to borrow some cash, Grimes hadn't been totally surprised to find it abandoned and boarded up. The idiot had been cooking meth in the kitchen and hadn't been exactly subtle in his efforts. Grimes had had no doubts the guy would eventually get busted. With its reputation as a meth lab, even the homeless tended to avoid the place since contaminated buildings remained dangerous long after they'd been abandoned. However, Grimes didn't care and had used the place a time or two whenever he wanted to be alone.

Grimes really didn't intend to kill the NCIS agent, just have some fun with him and raise the stakes. Killing people was all well and good, but he found he was getting a real kick playing with this agent and seeing how far he could push him. Posing a janitor, Grimes had managed to slip into Sarah's room just long enough to snap a few photos on his phone. He wanted to find out more about this Special Agent Timothy McGee, and he'd found a little pain went a long way to discovering what a person was made of.

Grunting with the effort, he finally managed to get the unconscious agent stripped to his shorts and settled into a metal chair bolted to the cellar floor. A metal box with wires trailing from it stood on a small table nearby. As Grimes carefully strapped McGee's arms and legs to the chair, he couldn't help smiling. A guy at the hospital had enlightened him to joys of electricity. If done right, it could cause severe pain without a lot of obvious damage and could be used for a long time before actually killing the victim. Pain was Grimes' goal here, and lots of it. He checked his watch and frowned. It was getting late. He would need to get back to the hospital early. He'd managed to wrangle another overnight pass, but he had a group therapy session at nine and couldn't afford to miss it. In the corner were a couple of buckets. One was for the inevitable vomiting that accompanied some of his endeavors, Grimes wasn't about to clean up some victim's puke if he didn't have to, while the other was full of water. Taking the second, Grimes dumped the water over McGee's head.

With a low moan, McGee slowly regained consciousness. His head was throbbing and felt like it might explode at any moment. His stomach roiled. He blinked rapidly, trying to bring the dimly lit room into focus and with a start realized he was bound firmly to a chair of some sort wearing nothing but his boxers. Soaking wet now, he shivered in the cold. His eyes darted around the room trying to figure out where he was. He froze when he spied the shadowy figure standing silently in the corner.

"Who are you?" rasped McGee fighting down a wave of nausea as he to make out the figure's face.

"I'm KILLER123," croaked the man in a harsh whisper stepping closer. The man's head was covered by a black ski mask and his jeans and black sweatshirt were hardly remarkable but his burning eyes were unmistakable. McGee felt a stab of apprehension when he noticed the man wore latex gloves. Not good. "I'm so glad to meet you, Special Agent McGee. I don't often meet the families of my luscious young ladies."

The salacious tone sent McGee's blood pressure soaring as he struggled desperately against his bonds. "Don't you dare touch my sister, you sick son of a bitch!"

Grimes laughed, sounding even more depraved. Oh, how he was enjoying this. "Or _what_?" sneered Grimes stepping closer. "Exactly _what_ will you do, _Special _Agent McGee? Seems like I'm the one in control of this situation. I think perhaps you need to be reminded of that." Grimes now reached over to the machine and grabbed one of the wires. An alligator clip was securely fastened to one end. Grimes studied McGee thoughtfully for a moment as the agent glared balefully back. Then with a nod, Grimes grabbed McGee's head to steady it and deftly clipped the end of the wire to McGee's upper lip. McGee cried out softly at the pain as the jagged teeth of the clip dug into the soft tissue. Grimes then stepped over to the device on the table, flipped a switch and slowly turned a knob. With growing satisfaction, he listened to McGee's agonized screams increase along with the voltage. Grimes checked his watch again and smiled. Yes, tonight was going to be one of the best ever.

XXXXXXXX

McGee groaned as he gradually regained consciousness. Where was he? He slowly opened his eyes and realized he was lying across the front seat of his own car. How the hell had he gotten here? Was his entire hellish encounter with KILLER123 just one horrible nightmare? He tried to move but found his body rebelling against any action. He muffled a cry of pain, and lay panting as memories washed over him. He could clearly recall the first round of shocks. It had felt as if a spike had been shoved directly into his brain and his skin burned like fire. He had blacked out shortly after that but had been quickly revived and subjected to shock after shock all over his body. McGee started to shake uncontrollably then lunging forward to push open the passenger side door, vomited violently onto the pavement. His head was spinning and still pounded relentlessly. Gasping, he lay still for many long minutes trying to pull himself together. He looked around and was surprised to see that his car was parked outside his own apartment. Taking a deep breath, he pushed himself to a sitting position but was forced to seize the steering wheel to steady himself as the world whirled violently around him. Bit by bit, the dizziness receded, and he opened his eyes again. His body was bathed in a cold sweat as he continued to shake. He knew he had to get up to his apartment.

He looked outside and realized it was very early, just before dawn. No one was outside and the dark rain slicked streets shone dully in the streetlamps. Again, taking several deep breaths to prepare himself, McGee opened the driver's side door, swung his legs out and hesitantly stood up. Once more, the world spun, causing him to grab onto the door to keep upright, his quivering legs just barely supporting his weight as searing pain shot through his body. This was going to be harder than he thought.

It took him almost thirty minutes of lurching from one support to another to finally make his way to his apartment. Bathed in sweat, gasping for breath, he barely noticed the door was unlocked, so thankful was he to reach his final destination. Staggering through the apartment, he reached the bedroom where he collapsed onto the bed and sank into blessed unconsciousness.


	7. Chapter 7

**CHAPTER SEVEN**

Tony had just finished writing up his notes on the interviews he'd conducted with several of the people from the camp ground party. They all remembered an odd, creepy guy whom Ron Peters had invited. When the guy began making everyone uncomfortable, Ron had asked him to leave. No one admitted to knowing the guy's name or having seen him before. Tony was still waiting for the dispatcher from Ron's trucking company to call back. However, the witnesses were at least able to provide a decent description and the sketch of the unknown guest sat on Tony's desk.

Now Tony was studying the latest report from Abby's forensics lab. All the victims had been shot with a 9 mm handgun which remained unidentified. In the course of the crime scene investigation, they had discovered an old Walkman tape player in the brush along with a set of tire tracks not far from the parking lot. It didn't take a genius to realize they belonged to a motorcycle, but there was no way to tell if it belonged to their suspect or to someone else. However it was another piece of the puzzle that might prove useful in the future. He glanced over at McGee's empty desk and frowned. He was surprised Probie hadn't arrived yet. Yesterday, McGee had even beaten Gibbs in, yet here it was, well past starting time and Probie hadn't shown up yet. He tried calling McGee. No luck. Tony felt a stab of worry as he put down the phone. Could there have been a change in Sarah's condition? Maybe he was at the hospital.

His attention was diverted to the elevator as Ziva and Gibbs stepped out deep in conversation. As they approached Tony, Gibbs handed him another piece of paper. "Abby was able to get fingerprints off that old Sony Walkman you found in the bushes and got a hit. Guy by the name of David Michael Grimes."

Ziva clicked on the plasma and the image of a thin, rangy man popped up. "According to his records, Grimes has been committed twice to psychiatric hospitals and is currently a resident at the Blue Ridge Mental Health Facility in Arlington. He was convicted of assaulting a man with a tire iron during a traffic altercation but was diagnosed as suffering from paranoid schizophrenia and committed." She reached down and picked up a sketch from her desk. "He looks very much like the man in this drawing, does he not?"

Tony nodded then frowned as he studied the paper in his hands. "It says he was committed to another hospital in Anchorage, Alaska for killing a homeless man and received a similar diagnosis. He was released after six years. Doctors there claimed he was no longer a threat to society."

Gibbs grunted in disbelief. "I think they mighta been wrong." He turned to McGee's desk and halted in surprise. He turned to DiNozzo. "Where's McGee?"

Tony shrugged helplessly. "Dunno, Boss. I tried calling him awhile ago, but it went directly to voicemail." He hesitated. "Maybe something happened to Sarah?"

Gibbs swore softly under his breath. He couldn't think of any other reason that would keep McGee out of the office right now. His junior agent was desperate to find the guy that shot his sister and her friends, and it was unlikely he'd overslept, no matter how exhausted he was. Gibbs was about to tell the others he was heading to the hospital to find out when the soft ding of elevator caused him to turn just in time to see McGee stumble through the doors.

Gibbs, Tony and Ziva stared at McGee in shock. His face was ashen, blood staining one side of his face. He looked wildly around until he spied his team. Breathing hard, he staggered over to Gibbs' desk where Gibbs grabbed just in time to catch him as McGee's knees buckled. "McGee!" exclaimed Gibbs lowering McGee into a chair. "What happened?" Out of the corner of his eye, Gibbs saw Tony quickly dial his phone. Good, he was calling Ducky.

He turned his attention back to Tim who seemed to have trouble focusing. The man was shaking and bathed in sweat. Gibbs knelt down in front of him and caught McGee's eyes. "Tim," he said firmly, "_Look_ at me! Do you hear me? _Look… at… me_." It took several moments for McGee to focus his attention onto Gibbs, but he finally managed just as Ducky hurried out of the elevator.

"Oh dear," exclaimed Dr. Mallard as he approached and taking in McGee's disheveled, blood-stained appearance. Pulling out a small light, he quickly flashed them into McGee's eyes then frowning, turned his attention to the bloody wound on the side of his head. "What happened, here?"

"Tim," said Gibbs again pulling McGee's wavering focus back to him. "What happened? How did you get hurt?"

Tim opened his mouth several times before finally croaking, "Killer one two three." His throat was so ragged from hours of screaming, he could barely get the words out.

Tony and Ziva exchanged confused glances. What did _that _mean?

Gibbs' gaze never wavered. "Tim," he said slowly and deliberately, "What does 'killer one two three' mean?"

Tim opened his mouth again, but seemed to be having trouble speaking. Ziva handed him a bottle of water from her desk. Hand shaking, Tim gratefully accepted the water and gulped it down getting almost as much on his shirt as down his throat. He closed his eyes as if in concentration then tried again. "Guy who shot Sarah. Sent me email. Address was KILLER123. Tracked him to Anacostia. He…he threatened Sarah." McGee began shaking even more violently as he buried his face in his hands.

Gibbs now looked to Ducky who stepped back from his exam. "He has suffered a very nasty blow to the head, Jethro. Probably suffering from a concussion." He hesitated, frowning in thought. "But given his condition, I suspect he has suffered more than that, although other than a swollen lip, I don't see any obvious signs of injury but he seems to be in shock."

McGee looked up again. "We need to put security on Sarah!" he croaked urgently. "Guy was in her room. Sent me her picture." He tried to stand. "Gotta get to the hospital…" He swayed and again would have fallen if Gibbs and Ducky hadn't steadied him and pushed him back into his chair.

"You need to go to the hospital all right," replied Gibbs flatly. "But to get that head wound checked out. We'll get a security detail over the Sarah's room right away, don't worry."

"I'm fine!" sputtered McGee, again trying to rise, but he froze when he spotted the photo of David Grimes up on the plasma. His body went cold as he stared at the dark, deep-set eyes. He'd seen those eyes all too recently, in the basement of an abandoned house. "Who is that?" he whispered, never looking away.

Uncertainly, Tony glanced at Gibbs. "It's a possible suspect," Tony said. "David Grimes. Found his fingerprints on an old Walkman near some motorcycle tracks by the parking lot at the park. Lives in a mental hospital."

Tim slowly rose to his feet, his eyes never leaving the image. "That's him," he breathed, "That's the guy that attacked me."

"You got a good look at his face?" asked Gibbs standing ready to catch Tim if needed.

"I saw his eyes," growled Tim. "I'd know them anywhere. He's the one. He shot Sarah." He turned to Gibbs, hate burning in his eyes. "We need to go get him _now_!"

"_We_ will go get him. _You_ are heading over to the hospital," Gibb replied firmly.

When McGee started to protest, Gibbs glared at him, effectively shutting him up.

Ducky stepped forward. "I will escort Timothy to the hospital, Jethro, and make sure he gets the care he needs."

McGee again looked as if he would speak up, but as his knees started to buckle once more, he finally surrendered to the inevitable. He knew he was in no shape to take down this Grimes bastard, so the sooner he got fixed up the better. He had passed out in his apartment for several hours before he finally pulled himself together enough to come to the office. He still wasn't entirely sure how he'd made it all the way from Silver Springs in one piece. His memory of the entire drive was disconcertingly hazy but his sense of urgency all too clear.

"Okay, Ducky," McGee sighed. "Let's go." He then turned to Gibbs. "You will let me know what happens, right Boss?"

"Don't worry, McGee," replied Gibbs. "You'll be the first to know.

XXXXXXXX

McGee allowed Ducky to conduct him down to the parking garage and into his car. McGee felt as if every muscle in his body was screaming in pain as he collapsed into the passenger seat. He didn't want to admit to what had happened to him, worried that Gibbs would bar him from the investigation if he knew the extent to which McGee had been tortured. At least his head wound gave him an excuse for the occasional moan, but most of the time, McGee just fought against revealing any sign of pain. To be honest, he would love it if someone would give him a huge dose of morphine, and let him sleep for a week. He suspected that drugs would be the _only_ way he would be able to sleep. Every time he even closed his eyes, memories of those never-ending hours of agony in that basement would come flooding back leaving him shaking and nauseous. But he had to protect Sarah. He wouldn't feel she was safe unless he could be there to personally watch over her.

Despite Ducky's protest they go somewhere closer, McGee insisted they head to the Doctors Community so he could check on Sarah. Once they arrived Ducky carefully helped McGee from the car. "Slowly, my dear boy," Duckie said as he steadied McGee on his feet. They were at the emergency room entrance, and it was only a few moments before McGee was settled in an exam room with a doctor carefully examining his wounded head.

"Did you see what you were hit with?" asked the doctor as he prepared to stitch the wound. McGee noted his nametag said Blume.

McGee grimaced. "No."

"And did you lose consciousness?"

McGee hesitated. He knew he'd blacked out for quite awhile, but he really didn't want them to keep him here for observation. "I think so, but only for a few minutes."

Dr. Blume nodded and continued his exam. He frowned as he studied McGee's swollen lip. "What happened here?"

McGee's mouth went dry as he pictured Grimes snapping the alligator clip firmly onto his lip, then hitting the power. The pain had been unbearable and even now he could feel his pulse starting to race as his body started to shake. The doctor exchanged concerned looks with Ducky.

"Timothy," said Ducky noting McGee's suddenly vacant look, placed a comforting hand on McGee's arm. "What happened? Do you remember?"

McGee closed his eyes and tried to swallow to no effect. He simply couldn't tell Ducky what had occurred. That would make it all seem too real. The lip had just been the beginning. The torture had gotten progressively worse and more intense. Grimes knew just how to administer the voltage to the most sensitive parts of the body to cause the most pain, yet leave little trace of his actions.

"He…uh…he hit me…" stammered McGee not meeting Ducky's eyes.

"Is that all?" Ducky's tone was encouraging but skeptical at the same time. Ducky was all too familiar with the results of torture from his time in various war zones. He knew the signs of abuse and although he couldn't see any definite physical marks beyond the head injury and swollen lip, he was convinced McGee had been through something horrific.

McGee was silent. He suddenly remembered Ducky's background and realized he wasn't fooling anyone, but still, he couldn't put what had happened to him into words, not and hold onto his sanity. He continued to look away. "That's it," he whispered, his body bathed in a cold sweat. "He hit me in the head. That's all I remember."

Ducky stared hard at Timothy's pale face as the ER doctor finished stitching McGee's head. He knew in his gut McGee was hiding something and by doing that, would likely pay a very heavy price later on.

"We should get some skull images to make sure you didn't suffer any fractures," said Dr. Blume finally.

"Listen, I'll be fine," protested Tim avoiding Ducky's gaze. "I really need to get to my sister and make sure she's OK!"

The doctor frowned. "Well, you have at least a severe concussion. I'd like to keep you overnight for observation."

"No!" snapped McGee impatiently, climbing to his feet. "I'll be fine!"

"Timothy," began Ducky in concern, "I think it really would be for the best."

McGee rolled his eyes in irritation and immediately regretted it. His head throbbed badly enough without him aggravating things, but he ignored the pain. "I don't have time to sit here in the hospital. That guy is out there with my sister in his sights. I need to be with her. I need to be working to find him before he gets another chance!"

"Agent McGee," cautioned the doctor firmly, "Head injuries are not to be taken lightly. It may be hours or sometimes days before the true damage becomes apparent. You really need to take it easy for a few days and as Dr. Mallard said, it really would be best if you stay overnight."

McGee shook his head as he got carefully to his feet. He had to be strong. He had to be able to convince Gibbs to let him stay on the case. "I'm going to ICU to check on Sarah."

Ducky glanced quickly at the ER doctor who nodded and slipped from the room. Ducky now turned to the distraught McGee. "Timothy," he began, his tone stern, "I insist you at least get x-rayed. I will not have it on my conscious that you were seriously injured, and we didn't do something. If you refuse, I will inform Gibbs, and he will most certainly pull you from the case."

McGee stared at Ducky in shock. Ducky never threatened them. His face flushed as he felt a surge of anger. He didn't want to be stuck here. He needed to see Sarah, but what could he do? Finally, he nodded, his face dark with resentment.

Ducky patted him on the arm. "It really is for the best, Timothy. You can't help Sarah if you are injured yourself. You need to take care of your health."

The doctor returned and after a few words from Ducky, he had McGee in a wheelchair and whisked away to radiology. An hour later, they had returned. Ducky looked up expectantly.

"Well," began the doctor, "Looks like a severe concussion. I don't see signs of any other damage, and the fact he says he only lost consciousness briefly is a good sign. I would like to keep him for observation but…" He shrugged helplessly.

"I'm fine," snapped McGee impatiently. "Just a headache. I know the signs. If I get worse, I'll let you know. Now, I'm going to find Sarah."

With a sigh, Ducky followed McGee from the emergency room to the elevator. Ducky could tell McGee was struggling, but was at least doing better than when he'd first appeared at NCIS. Five minutes later they found themselves in the waiting area of the intensive care unit. Gibbs, who was talking to two men, turned in surprise to see McGee and Ducky striding towards him.

"McGee?" asked Gibbs with a frown. "Shouldn't you be in a bed someplace?"

McGee swallowed but held firm. "I'm fine, Boss, just a concussion." He looked past the three men before him towards the ICU. "Sarah?"

"No change in her condition," replied Gibbs quietly. "Your parents are with her." He now indicated the two agents beside him. "Agent Murray here will be stationed outside her room and Hernandez will be in the waiting area."

"Good," sighed McGee. "I plan on staying here as well."

"McGee." Gibbs pulled his junior agent aside. "You need to go home and get some rest. You look like crap. You're not going to be of any help to your family or your team if you collapse in the middle of the investigation."

"But Boss…!"

"McGee!" snapped Gibbs. "I told you, you could work this case only if you followed my orders to the letter and right now I'm _ordering_ you to go home and rest. If you don't, I'm gonna pull your ass off this case, and you can fill out paperwork till it's all over. Do I make myself clear? Besides, after pulling what you did last night, going after this guy alone, you're lucky I don't suspend you right now. "

McGee's mouth opened and closed several times before his shoulders slumped in defeat. "I understand," he replied sullenly.

"Timothy," interjected Ducky, coming forward. "Why don't you go in and see Sarah, and then I shall take you home."

With a nod, McGee turned and headed towards Sarah's room while Gibbs and Ducky watched. "How is he, Duck?"

"Nasty concussion," replied Ducky, "But Jethro, he has not been exactly forthcoming. I suspect more happened to him that he admits."

Gibbs frowned and looked quickly at the ME. "So what are you saying, Ducky? You think he was tortured or something?"

Ducky sighed. "All he would disclose was that he had been hit in the head, but I think it was far more than that. I took a good look at his swollen lip and could detect a jagged pattern of bruising consistent with an alligator clip."

"You think this guy wired him up?" asked Gibbs aghast.

"I believe if he were to allow me to examine him thoroughly, I would find a number of small burn marks and similar bruises all over McGee's body." Ducky shook his head in disgust. "Torturers who prefer that their work not be obvious often turn to electricity. It is extremely painful, but if done carefully, leaves little outward sign, especially if the torturer knows what he is doing as would seem to be true in this case."

"So, should I force him to into the hospital?"

Ducky sighed again. "I don't think he would agree, nor do I think it necessarily would help him. If I am correct, the pain will remain with him for some time, but I don't believe he has suffered any permanent physical damage. Psychological damage, however may be a different story. Some painkillers and perhaps muscle relaxants would do him the most good for the physical pain, but if he was tortured, he will need serious psychological help and soon. The problem is, unless he will admit it actually occurred, there isn't much we can do. It's simply an educated guess on our part. However, the longer he suppresses it, the worse the damage."

"Damn," muttered Gibbs looking towards the ICU. It disturbed him deeply to think what McGee may have gone through. He knew Ducky was right. They needed to get him to admit that it actually happened, but Gibbs doubted that McGee would open up as long as the killer was still on the loose. They needed to catch the sonofabitch and soon.

xxxxxxxxxx

A/N: Thank you so much for all the kind reviews. I'm always happy when people enjoy one of my stories. I hope you all will continue to enjoy the rest.


	8. Chapter 8

**CHAPTER EIGHT**

An hour after leaving the hospital, Ducky pulled up in front of McGee's apartment. "Timothy, I wish you would reconsider coming to stay at my home for a couple of days. I would feel better if I could keep an eye on you in case any problems arise stemming from your head injury."

"Ducky," replied McGee wearily, opening his door, "I really appreciate the offer. I do, but I think I would just feel better being at home with my own stuff and in my own bed. I have to admit it, but Gibbs is right. I'm totally wiped out. I have your phone number. If I think anything's wrong, I'll call. I promise."

Ducky smiled regretfully "Timothy, if you feel the need to talk about …anything, please do. Anytime of the day or night, don't hesitate. I want only to help you."

"I know Ducky, and I appreciate it." McGee climbed from the car and made his way into his apartment building. Ducky watched carefully, noting the stiffness and unsteadiness in the young man's movements. _He must be suffering terribly, _thought Ducky unhappily. If only McGee would let them in.

When McGee finally reached his apartment, he wearily shut the door and collapsed onto the sofa with a low moan. Every part of his body hurt, his head worst of all. He closed his eyes, but they snapped open immediately as images of his hellish experiences at the hands of that lunatic played across his mind in vivid detail. How could he be sitting here in his living room like he did every day when only hours ago he was screaming in agony as bolts of electricity were shot through his convulsing body? He fought down his rising gorge as the images of an almost unimaginable nightmare threatened to overwhelm him. He buried his face in his hands and sobbed as the long suppressed emotions finally broke free. He'd been certain he was going to die in that basement, and there were many moments when death would have been welcome.

After many long minutes, he finally pulled himself together and let his pounding head fall back against the couch cushion. He wanted to scream and rave and throw things. He simply didn't have the strength. How could he protect his sister when he couldn't even protect himself? With a long, painful sigh, McGee struggled to his feet and stumbled to the kitchen. The muscles in his body were so stiff and sore he could barely move. He pulled out a glass, filled it with water from the faucet and downed a couple of the pain pills the doctor had prescribed. He hadn't eaten anything all day but the thought of food made his stomach turn. He rubbed his face and decided to take a shower and then a nap. He was so exhausted he couldn't think straight. Thirty minutes later, he was sound asleep.

It was the sound of his phone that woke him hours later. Fumbling around in the dark, he flipped it open. "Hullo?" he mumbled groggily. He peered blearily at the clock. It was two A.M. He winced at the throbbing in his head.

_Hello, Special Agent McGee. How are you feeling this evening? Well, I hope?_

McGee's eyes snapped opened, instantly awake as his body began to tremble. He would recognize that voice anywhere. _Get ahold of yourself, McGee, _he chided himself. _He can't hurt you over a phone! _Taking a shaky breath, McGee could feel his gut churning but he had to say something. "Who are you?" he finally managed.

The voice at the other end was low and mocking. "Oh, I don't think that's really important in a relationship such as ours, now is it? You really aren't so special are you, _Special_ Agent McGee?" the voice sneered. "Can't even protect your own little sister. You know, I can get to her any time I want and you can't stop me. You're nothing but a worthless piece of shit, a stupid computer geek who doesn't even know enough to bring back-up when going after a suspect. You deserved everything you got last night for being so damned stupid. Who did you have to sleep with to get your job, because you sure didn't get it for your brains!" There was a brief pause, and McGee could hear the man chuckling. "I really should have just killed you, but maybe you learned a lesson in all this. Here, I have something you might like to see."

A soft ping alerted McGee to an incoming text message. McGee's mouth was bone dry as he opened the message. It was another photo. Gritting his teeth to keep from crying out, McGee found himself looking at a close up of Sarah's pale face, her head swathed in bandages. A man's hand could be seen caressing her cheek. McGee couldn't breathe, couldn't think, unable to respond. How did this guy get his number? How had he gotten back into the hospital? Where was the protection detail?

"Are you there, Special Agent McGee?" came the disembodied voice.

"I'm here," choked McGee. He was dealing with both a deep-seated terror stemming from the pain he'd suffered at the hands of this monster, as well as an even deeper hatred for what the man had done both to him and to his sister. He wanted to reach in through the phone and rip out the bastard's throat. Abruptly, his mind kicked in. He had to do something. He couldn't let this asshole get away with this. Then it occurred to him: maybe he could trace this guy while he was on the phone. McGee's fingers flew over the keyboard as he connected into the NCIS system allowing him to home in on the killer's phone. It would take some time so he had to keep the guy talking.

"What do you want from me?"

"Want?" chuckled the voice in genuine amusement. "From you? Nothing really, just simple entertainment. I've never had a real opportunity to match wits with the feds. When I discovered that little Sarah had survived, and that her big brother was a federal agent, well, I decided to find out what he was made of. I'm sorry to say, I've been quite disappointed so far."

"I think you'll find I'm tougher than you think," retorted McGee absently, his attention centered on his computer screen. _Come on…come on!_

"I doubt that," chuckled the caller. "And, if I'm not mistaken, you're probably trying to track my phone, so I will say good-bye. But don't worry, _Special_ Agent McGee, I'll be seeing you and your delightful sister again before long." The line went dead.

"Damn!" cursed McGee slamming his hand down on his desk in frustration. He had been so close! If only the guy had stayed on a little longer. But there was no time to be lost. McGee had to get back to the hospital, check on Sarah and find out what the hell was going on over there. He leaped to his feet only to nearly collapse as his head began to spin wildly and a sharp pain penetrated his skull. Breathing heavily against the pain and nausea, he closed his eyes to wait out the bout of vertigo. He knew he needed to lie down and rest, but there wasn't time. He _had_ to check on Sarah and figure out how the killer was getting close to her.

Taking a deep breath to steady himself, he threw on some clothes then grabbed his jacket and headed for the door. He knew it probably wasn't a good idea to drive in his current condition, but he had no choice. He had to see for himself that Sarah was all right. He did his best to ignore his protesting muscles and his throbbing head as he stumbled down the apartment building stairs to the parking garage. As he approached his assigned parking space, he sighed in relief. Tony had assured McGee he would bring the Porsche back to McGee's apartment and he was as good as his word. McGee climbed in with a sigh and started the engine. He smiled inwardly at the beautiful rumble. Throwing it into gear, he roared out of the garage and began the journey to the hospital.

He remembered little of the drive although several times it occurred to him that he would give Ziva a run for her money. He was surprised he wasn't pulled over. He arrived at the hospital in record time, parked his car and rushed inside. Had he the strength, he would have climbed the stairs but as it was, he was struggling for breath as he entered the elevator. Moments later, he burst into the ICU waiting area, eyes wild. Agent Hernandez hurried to meet him.

"Agent McGee? Is there something wrong?"

"How did he get in here? How did he get past you?" cried McGee grabbing Hernandez's shoulders and shaking him urgently.

"What are you talking about?" asked Hernandez in confusion. "How did who get past me?"

"Grimes!" snapped McGee whirling around. "He was _here_!"

"No one was here," replied Hernandez trying to soothe the distraught McGee. But McGee roughly pushed past him and hurried to Sarah's room. Hernandez quickly pulled out his phone and started to follow.

As McGee burst into the ICU, Agent Murray looked up in surprise, starting to reach for his gun.

"_Where have you been_?" demanded McGee shoving a shocked Murray up against the wall. "How did that bastard get in here?"

"McGee!" cried Murray pushing McGee away angrily. "What the hell are you talking about? I've been here all night. I haven't moved once. I can assure you no one has been in your sister's room except for the night nurse. Look, she's fine!"

McGee released Murray and stumbled into Sarah's room. She lay as she had been the past couple of days, silent and unresponsive. McGee closed his eyes in relief and could feel the room start to spin, the pain in his head worse than ever. He opened his eyes to find both Murray and Hernandez eyeing him with concern. A couple of nurses hovered in the background.

"The killer called me," said McGee in weary desperation. "He sent me another photo of Sarah. He was _here_! Look!" He pulled out his phone to show them the picture, then frowned in confusion. It wasn't there. He looked for the record of the call and it too was gone. It was if Grimes had never called him.

Murray stepped forward. "McGee, maybe you just dreamed it. I mean, with that head injury and all…" he trailed off uncomfortably as McGee rounded on him.

"I _didn't _dream it, damn it!" snapped McGee still searching through his phone. "He called me and sent me a photo, another photo of Sarah. I know it's in here!"

"McGee!" Tim whirled to find Gibbs striding towards him. "What the hell are you doing here in the middle of the night? I told you to go home and get some sleep."

"Boss," cried Tim holding out his phone. "Grimes called me. He sent me another picture of Sarah. _He was here!"_

Gibbs stared hard at McGee then took the phone and studied it with a frown. "Show me."

McGee opened his mouth then his shoulders slumped in defeat. "I…I can't. It's gone. I don't know how he did it, but somehow Grimes erased the record of the call and the picture. But, Boss, I swear, _it was there!"_

Gibbs took in his agent's wild, unfocused gaze, his flushed face and unsteady movements and didn't like what he saw. "Tim," he began softly, "Sarah is safe. Both Hernandez and Murray say no one has been here. You've had a very rough day and suffered a concussion. You're exhausted and confused, and I think you just need to go home and get some rest. We _will_ keep Sarah safe, OK?"

McGee clenched his jaw, fighting back a retort he knew would get him in trouble. With a trembling hand, he reached out and took back his phone. They thought he had imagined the whole thing. He _knew_ that photo had been on his phone less than an hour ago, yet they obviously didn't believe him. Suddenly, McGee was furious. He was _not_ hallucinating. He _had_ spoken with Grimes, and he had no doubt Grimes was their man. Grimes had threatened Sarah. How could Gibbs not see that? McGee struggled to maintain his composure. He didn't want Gibbs to throw him off the case, and McGee knew he was very close to doing just that. McGee saw that if he pushed this, Gibbs might think he was losing it completely. So be it. He would play their game, but he wouldn't let this go. He'd follow the trail on his own.

He took a deep breath and nodded. "Yeah Boss," he replied slowly. "Maybe you're right. I guess I'd better just go home." He glanced at Hernandez and Murray who continued to watch him warily. McGee smiled briefly in embarrassment. "Sorry, guys." Both agents quickly assured him it was no big deal and that they would watch over Sarah like she was one of their own. McGee nodded and let Gibbs guide him towards the elevator.

Gibbs was worried about McGee. He had concerns that this case was getting too much for the younger agent to handle. Ducky thought he might have been tortured and if that was true, who know how that was affecting McGee's judgment, on top of a head injury. His gut instinct told him to take McGee off the case, but short of locking him up he knew McGee would find a way to keep on it.

"McGee," said Gibbs as they waited for the elevator. "I want you to take tomorrow off. Wait," he said as McGee started to protest. "Look at yourself. You're a wreck. Your whole body is shaking, you look like crap and frankly, I think you should be admitted here and now, but if you promise to take tomorrow and rest up, you can come back on the case. You know DiNozzo and Ziva will follow every lead, and Abby will do her best. We won't let you down, but Tim, you need to take care of yourself. You need to do it for Sarah."

Tim experienced a fresh surge of anger. He felt like he was being treated a child. He was a better judge of his capabilities than Gibbs. He knew he could handle the work. Again he bit back a furious retort. He had his own plans and would keep working on this no matter what Gibbs said. Rather than having to lie, he simply nodded his acquiescence and entered the elevator followed by Gibbs.

Silently, they rode down to the parking level. Gibbs watched McGee silently for several moments. "Do you wanna tell me what really happened last night?"

McGee froze, never shifting his gaze from the numbers above the door. He swallowed. "Nothing," he finally replied. "He hit me in the head, roughed me up a little. That's all."

Gibbs looked sideways at McGee. "Tim, if something happened that could compromise this case, I need to know. Now is not the time for secrets."

"_Nothing _happened that could compromise this case," snapped McGee through gritted teeth. "Why does everyone keep insisting something else happened? I have a headache…that's all. All right?"

Gibbs frowned. Like Ducky, he felt deep in his gut that McGee was suffering more deeply than he would admit, and it was important they get to the bottom of it. He'd just have to keep pushing. The elevator softly dinged, and the doors slid open. Gibbs escorted McGee to his car.

"Are you sure you're OK to drive?" he asked as McGee dug out his keys. He didn't like the way McGee's hand shook.

"I got here all right, didn't I?" grumbled Tim as he unlocked the door. "I'll be fine." He climbed into the car and few moments later, disappeared out the garage exit. Gibbs watched silently. He had a strong feeling things were about to get a lot worse.

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A/N: Sorry for the delay getting the next chapter up. We were out of town. Hope you enjoy it.


	9. Chapter 9

**CHAPTER NINE**

When McGee got back to his apartment, he downed a couple more pain killers hoping they would at least mute the throbbing in his head. He paced the room, his anxiety prevented him from settling down. Ok, what did he know? He knew the killer's name was David Grimes, and he was living in a mental hospital. Tony had told him that much. He thought about the missing photos. Obviously, Grimes must have access to a computer and the internet.

He hurried over to his computer and settled himself in front of the large screen. Maybe Gibbs wouldn't let him come into work, but McGee was an exceptionally talented hacker and as long as he had a computer and an internet connection, he was in business.

It took longer than it should have, but McGee blamed the relentless headache. At one point, he'd gotten up too quickly and found himself vomiting in the bathroom. He knew this was not a good sign, but he was driven. Despite the distractions, he'd finally tracked down the virus Grimes had managed to insert in order to access McGee's phone files. Grimes was very, very good. But McGee was better. He had eventually traced the virus to a computer in the main Arlington library. He sat for a few moments considering this. It was possible Grimes had used that computer as an intermediary, but perhaps someone there might recognize Grimes and have even a small clue that could help McGee track him down. He suspected Grimes knew they had identified him and would disappear. He couldn't let him get away. He looked at his watch. It was already after ten in the morning. The library should be open.

Grabbing his keys and a couple more pain killers, McGee headed down to his car. As he settled himself behind the wheel, a sharp pain, like an ice pick in his brain, caused McGee to grab his skull as if to somehow keep his head from exploding. The pain gradually subsided, but it left him breathless and shaky. Cold sweat trickled down his face as a fresh wave of nausea washed over him. Frustrated, he smashed his hand against the steering wheel. How could he protect Sarah like this?

When he felt steady enough, he started the car and began the long drive from Silver Springs down to Virginia. When he arrived at the library it took him a few minutes to finally pull himself out of the car. The spike in his head had returned and this time, his vision had gone blurry. Thankfully, he was just turning into the parking lot at the time. Five minutes later, found him at the desk of the reference librarian.

The young woman looked at McGee at frowned at his haggard face and bandaged head. "May I help you, sir?"

McGee pulled out his ID. "Special Agent Timothy McGee," he barked. "NCIS". The woman's eyebrows shot up. McGee pulled out a photo of Grimes. "I believe this man has been in here using your computers in the last 24 hours. Have you seen him?"

The woman tentatively took the photo and studied the photo, then shook her head. "I honestly don't know, Agent McGee." The computers are very busy at night and we have an hourly turnover. He might have been here." She frowned thoughtfully and looked over at the banks of public access computers. Then her face brightened. "Do you see that man at the last computer on the right? He's here every night. He might have seen your man."

McGee nodded his thanks and approached the user at the computer. By his ragged, unkempt appearance, McGee suspected the man was homeless and like many without a permanent residence found the library a welcome haven. McGee put his age at somewhere between fifty and seventy.

"Excuse me, sir. I wonder if I might ask you a question."

The old man looked up, his bright blue eyes peering at McGee with distrust. McGee was sure the man had been rousted by cops more than once in his life and was undoubtedly suspicious of all law men.

"Waddaya want?"

McGee showed the man his ID and again introduced himself. He then brought out the photo of Grimes. "I'm trying to locate this man. He's wanted for murder."

The man's eyes narrowed as he stared at McGee, then he took the photo and studied it carefully. Suddenly he face lit up. "He's the guy with the motorcycle!"

"Motorcycle?" McGee's heart sped up as he pulled out a pad and pen.

"Yeah," nodded the man happily. "A 1947 Indian Chief. Yellow with fringe on the seat. Damn that bike was a thing of beauty. Had one just like it when I was a kid. You just don't see those anymore. "

"You're saying this man owned such a motorcycle?"

"Yep." The man's eyes got a faraway look. "Man, I drove all over the country on that bike. Wish I still had it. Couldn't help notice it when it was parked outside the library. Guy who owned it weren't very friendly though. Nearly ripped my head off when I tried to talk to him about it."

"When did you see him here?"

The man frowned, rubbing his stubbled cheeks. "Well, he were here for a little while last night. I seen him here a coupla times before that."

McGee closed his eyes for a moment. A yellow 1947 Indian Chief motorcycle. Surely there couldn't be too many of those around. If he could track the motorcycle, he could find Grimes. Simplest way would be to put out a BOLO. But he wasn't supposed to be working the case so he shouldn't even be here. He rubbed his head, willing the pain to go away. It was making it so hard to think straight.

"Kid? Hey kid? You okay?" McGee opened his eyes to find the old man staring at him with concern.

"Yeah, I'm fine," mumbled McGee struggling to his feet. He stumbled the first few steps before regaining his balance as he hurried to the door. The old man watched him go then shook his head as he returned to his computer.

xxxxx

Grimes sat in the booth at McDonald's eating his way through a large box of chicken nuggets. He was happily replaying the previous night's activities in his head. This McGee guy was just too easy. He couldn't believe the agent hadn't figured out Grimes must have taken several pictures that one time he'd snuck into Sarah's room. Maybe when he'd hit McGee in the head with that bat it knocked a few things loose. After all, the records said the guy was supposed to be some kind of genius. He laughed again when he imagined McGee running to the hospital trying to figure out how Grimes had gotten in. He was sure McGee had tried to show someone those photos, but what were they to think when they weren't there? They must have figured poor McGee had finally cracked, what with the strain of his sister's injury and his own trip to Grimes' Chamber of Horrors. Grimes paused, a chicken nugget halfway to his mouth. Had McGee told the other agents about his evening of fun with electricity? Grimes popped the nugget into his mouth with a shake of his head. Nah. If McGee had told the others, Grimes had no doubt they'd have McGee in a hospital somewhere running a bunch of tests. Interesting.

Unfortunately, he had the feeling the feds were closing in on him. He didn't have any concrete evidence to support the fact, but over the years he'd developed a kind of sixth sense about that sort of thing. That meant he had to disappear. He frowned. He didn't like leaving things unfinished. He'd already decided he wasn't done with special Agent Timothy McGee. Grimes had shot four people and that meant four people had to die. If Sarah McGee was going to survive, then someone had to replace her and what better substitute than her brother.

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Dr. Blume rubbed his eyes as he headed towards his small office to write his reports of the night's events. It had been a long shift. As he settled down at his desk, he pulled out the file for the NCIS agent with the head injury. He read his report, made a few notes then pulled out the skull x-rays. He put them on his light board and stared at them. Something was bothering him. He focused on one of the films studying it carefully.

"Hey, Jack! What's that you're looking at?" Jack Blume turned to see one of the hospital's neurosurgeons standing in the doorway. Dr. Carl Lieber was on his way to his shift in the ER.

"Do you see anything strange in this x-ray, Carl? Guy was hit in the head with something. Claimed he only lost consciousness for a few minutes."

Carl stepped closer and frowned in concentration. Then he pointed to a very slight shadow on the right side of the brain. "It's not very clear but it looks like this could be the start of a subdural hematoma." He glanced at the other images. The shadow was only apparent on the one. "Is the patient here?"

Blume grimaced and shook his head. "No. I couldn't convince him to stay. He's a federal agent on a case, and he refused to be sidelined."

Carl pursed his lips thoughtfully. "Well, I think you'd better get him back in here. If that is a subdural hematoma, his head is a like a walking time bomb. If that keeps growing, he could die at any time."

Blume nodded reaching for the phone. "Thanks, Carl. I'm on it."

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Ducky stared mournfully at the pile of paperwork on his desk. They had no corpses in autopsy at the moment, and Ducky always used that down time to attempt to catch up on this endless task. Today, he was having trouble concentrating. He was worried about Timothy. The head injury was worrisome enough but the possibility that he had been tortured was even more disturbing. Jethro had called him early and informed him of McGee's frantic arrival at the hospital in the middle of the night. Ducky was considering how he might convince Timothy to return to the hospital when his phone rang.

"Dr. Mallard," he announced as he picked up the receiver.

"Ah, Dr. Mallard, thank goodness I got you! This is Dr. Blume at Doctors Community. Listen, I had a colleague of mine, a neurologist, look over Timothy McGee's skull series. He thinks Agent McGee may be developing a subdural hematoma. We need to get him back here immediately to reassess the situation. I tried calling Agent McGee, but he isn't answering his phone. I thought you might be able to contact him and bring him back here."

Ducky had gone cold. Bleeding inside the skull was extremely serious and could result in death anywhere from a few hours to a couple of weeks, depending on the extent and location of the clot. "I will do everything I can to find him," Ducky said as he hung up. Quickly he dialed McGee's number. It rang several times before going to voice mail. Ducky didn't know if Timothy was avoiding his call or unable to answer. He would need to find Jethro immediately. He suspected Gibbs was the only one Timothy would listen to in his current emotional state. Assuming he was conscious of course.

Ducky quickly made his way up to the bull pen. Gibbs, Tony, and Ziva all sat busy at their desks. Gibbs looked up as Ducky approached. "Something wrong, Duck?" Ziva and Tony were immediately alert.

"Yes, Jethro. I have some potentially disastrous news. I just spoke with the doctor from the ER that examined Timothy. He had a neurologist look over Timothy's x-rays, and he thinks Timothy may be bleeding into his brain. If he is, it is a potentially fatal situation. He could collapse at any moment. We need to convince him to return to the hospital as soon as possible."

Jethro frowned in concern. "Did you try calling him?"

Ducky nodded his head. "I tried just before I came up here. Dr. Blume told me he had tried several times, but Timothy did not respond. Either he is incapable of answering, or he is avoiding our calls. If it is the latter, I suspect you are the only one he will respond to."

"Are you saying McGee could _die_?" asked Ziva stepping forward.

"Yes, I'm afraid so." Ducky looked unhappily at the three agents now standing before him.

Without a word, Gibbs picked up his phone and dialed. They all waited. McGee did not pick up. Gibbs got to his feet and turned to Ziva and Tony. "We need to find McGee. Now. Ziva, see if you can trace his cell phone. If he has it on, we should be able to locate it. I'm worried McGee may have gone after Grimes on his own again."

"Do you really think McGee would do that, Boss?" frowned Tony gathering his things. "You know him. He follows the rules to the letter."

"You didn't see him last night," replied Gibbs with a shake of his head.

"Plus, with his head injury, he may not be thinking logically," added Ducky. "It is imperative we get him back to the hospital as soon as possible."

"How long do you think he has, Duck?"

Ducky frowned uncertainly. "It's hard to know, Jethro. It all depends on the rate of bleeding. Even if it is a slow, gradual process another blow to the head could be immediately fatal. Head injuries are very unpredictable."

"We will find him," said Ziva firmly as she hurried back to her desk intent on tracking McGee's phone.

Tony joined her, his heart heavy. What was McGee thinking right now? It killed him thinking his partner might be in serious trouble, and he wasn't there to help him.

"I feel so very responsible," sighed Ducky, rubbing his eyes. "I should have insisted Timothy stay in the hospital. If he dies, I feel it will be my fault."

"Gibbs?" Gibbs turned to see Abby standing nearby, her pale face stricken. No one had heard her approach. "What did Ducky mean? What's wrong with McGee?"

"I'm afraid Timothy has a potentially lethal head injury," replied Ducky turning to Abby. "We are trying to find him."

A few moments later, Ziva looked up from her computer. "I am sorry, Gibbs. He must have it turned off. I am not getting a signal."

Gibbs cursed softly. "You two get over to that mental hospital and see if you can track down Grimes. I'll head over to McGee's apartment and see if he's there."

"You've got to find him!" Abby gripped Gibbs' arm tightly. Her eyes glistening with unshed tears. "Don't let him die."

Gibbs enveloped her in his arms. "Don't worry, Abs, we'll track him down. I'll let you know as soon as we know anything." He hugged her once more, nodded to Ducky, then followed his agents to the elevator.


	10. Chapter 10

**CHAPTER TEN**

McGee climbed out of his car, eyeing the dilapidated garage with distinct misgivings. He had searched the DMV records but couldn't find any current records for Grimes. That made sense really. If he'd been locked up in a mental hospital for several years, he might not have a current driver's license or vehicle registration. At any rate, there was no motorcycle registered to Grimes. That didn't mean he didn't own one. He could have used a fake ID and registered it under a different name. McGee called the hospital and was told inmates were not allowed to have their own vehicles at the hospital. So, where was Grimes keeping his motorcycle?

"Inmates that are allowed passes take the shuttle bus into town," the receptionist had informed him. She'd given him a list of the stops the shuttle made. McGee had taken the list and searched for any storage units, garages, parking lots, etc. that might be within walking distance. He had been at it all day. He closed his eyes for a moment fighting off a wave of vertigo. He wasn't sure he could keep this up much longer. He gritted his teeth. He had no choice. He _had_ to find Grimes. Taking a deep breath, he approached the garage.

A man with arms heavily sleeved with tattoos looked up from the motorcycle he'd been working on and watched McGee approach with narrowed eyes. "Can I help you?"

McGee halted a few paces away and pulled out his ID. "Special Agent McGee. NCIS. I'm looking for a man named David Grimes. He may own a yellow Indian Chief motorcycle."

The man stood slowly, wiping his greasy hands on a dirty rag he'd pulled from his pocket. His face was unreadable. "What you want with Grimes?"

McGee took a breath. "He's wanted for questioning in a triple homicide."

The man's eyes widened. "Murder? You think Dave killed somebody?"

"Three people and a fourth…victim is in the hospital. Do you know where I can find him?"

The man blinked and turned away. He rubbed the back of his bald head as if trying to decide what to do. He finally turned with an air of decision. "Dave ain't been here in a coupla days. He works for me from time to time. Sometimes I let him sleep in the back room. I know he's been living in that mental hospital outside of town, but he seemed okay to me. I usually let him store the bike here when he's not out."

"Is it here now?"

The man shook his head. "Nah, like I said, Dave ain't been around here for awhile."

McGee sighed deeply, fighting the urge to rub his throbbing head. The pain continued to get worse. How much worse could it get? he wondered. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a business card. He handed it to the man. "If Grimes should come back here, please give me a call. He's very dangerous."

The man reluctantly took the card and shoved it into the pocket of his oil stained jeans. He watched with interest as McGee climbed back into his Porsche. His son joined him. "Nice car," the younger man nodded.

As his father was about to respond, the deep rumble of a motorcycle interrupted them. A bright yellow Indian Chief motorcycle roared into the cul-de-sac. The driver pulled to a halt, his face unreadable behind the face shield of his helmet. He paused for a moment, then abruptly wheeled the bike around and roared down the road. The deep-throated engine of the Porsche thundered into life as McGee tore after the rapidly disappearing motorcycle.

Xxxxxx

Tony approached the front of the Blue Ridge Mental Health Facility with some trepidation. Ziva sighed impatiently.

"Can't help it," muttered Tony lowering his sunglasses to study the entrance. "These places just creep me out. You ever watch "The Snake Pit" or "One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest"?

Ziva rolled her eyes. "Those are just movies, yes? You should know movies often bear little resemblance to real life."

"Yeah, I know, but if I see Nurse Ratched, I'm outta here."

The receptionist at the front was a pleasant young woman who immediately rang for Dr. Mason. A few moments later, the agents were being shown into the doctor's office.

The doctor was a short balding man with intense brown eyes. He smiled warmly as the two agents introduced themselves. "I am always happy to help the law. I understand you are interested in David Grimes?"

"Yes," replied Tony settling into his seat. "We have reason to believe he may have been involved with the deaths of three people. We need to know where he was on the night of the 13th."

Dr. Mason frowned as he stared at the two NCIS agents. "You seriously believe that David may have killed three people? But, he's one of our model patients. His progress has been excellent. I find it very hard to believe that he could be involved in anything so heinous."

"Doc," began Tony leaning forward. "We found his fingerprints at the scene of the crime. We have several witnesses claiming they saw a man matching Grimes' description at the park the night of the murders. We're not saying he did it, but we need to talk to him and find out where he was that night."

Mason was silent for several long moments. He then turned to his computer and worked for a few moments. He then studied the screen, his frown deepening. "David had a two day pass that weekend. His progress has reached the point where we are allowing him more freedom."

"So you do not know where he was that night?" prodded Ziva.

The doctor hesitated, obviously reluctant to say more. "No, I, uh, I'm afraid I don't"

"Where is he now?" asked Tony. "We need to talk to him."

Dr. Mason looked even more uncomfortable. "He's on another pass. He's supposed to return tomorrow morning."

Tony and Ziva exchanged glances. "Does he have a vehicle?" asked Ziva.

"Oh no. Patients are not allowed their own vehicles here. Patients that are given passes are required to take the shuttle into town."

"Where does the shuttle stop?" asked Tony

The doctor reached into a desk drawer and pulled out a sheet of paper. "Here is a list of the different stops the shuttle makes in town. I know David usually gets off at the Arlington Plaza stop."

Tony leaned forward as he took the paper. He was beginning to feel a thrill of excitement. His gut was telling him they were close to locating this Grimes guy. "Thanks, Doc." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a business card. "If Grimes should return or contact you in any way, please let me know immediately. He should be considered very dangerous."

Frowning, Dr. Mason took the card and slipped it into his desk drawer. "I truly hope you are wrong about David."

Tony just nodded as he and Ziva rose to leave. "We'll let you know if we learn anything more."

As they stepped out of Mason's office and headed towards the entrance, man approached them. He was pushing a broom and looked nervous. "Um, excuse me?"

Tony and Ziva paused. Tony raised any eyebrow. "Yeah?"

The man glanced around as if worrying someone might overhear. "Did I hear you say you're looking Dave Grimes?"

The two agents exchanged glances and stepped closer. "You know Grimes?" asked Tony. "Do you know where we can find him?"

The man looked down, not wanting to meet their eyes and licked his lips. "I dunno where he is, but I know he's got a motorcycle. He was bragging about it one night. I know he ain't supposed to have one, but he got one anyway."

"Do you know what kind?" Ziva laid a hand on the man's arm. He seemed to flinch.

He glanced around again and shrugged. "Not sure. I don't know much about motorcycles, but I think he said somethin' about Indians." He frowned in thought. Then his face brightened. "He said it were yellow." He smiled hopefully.

"That's great, uh…" Tony looked expectantly at the man.

The man licked his lips again. "Roddy."

Tony grinned. "Roddy. You've been a big help."

Roddy flushed with pleasure. Then without a word he hurried away, pushing his broom before him.

As they hurried to the car, Ziva glanced at her partner. "At last we have something to go on."

"Yeah," replied Tony slipping behind the wheel. "I have this feeling we're about to pick up Grimes' tail and hopefully find McGee in the process."

"I hope you are right."

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Gibbs stood outside McGee's apartment and knocked. There was no answer. He wasn't surprised. On the way up, he had checked the parking lot and there was no sign of McGee's car. Gibbs's gut was telling him McGee was in serious trouble and the fact they couldn't find him was worrying him. A lot. Normally, McGee was famous for his reluctance to flout the rules. Going after a perp without any backup was nothing McGee would consider doing under normal circumstances. But these weren't circumstances, were they? Not only was McGee's sister a victim of a vicious killer, but McGee could very well be suffering from a serious head injury, altering his normal behavior. That made it difficult to predict what he might do.

Gibbs reached into his pocket and pulled out the key Tony had given him. McGee had given Tony a key some time ago for emergencies, and Gibbs figured this was an emergency if ever he saw one. He pushed open the door and slipped into the silent apartment. Gibbs knew instantly that it was empty. _McGee, where are you? _He made a quick tour of the apartment but found nothing to help him locate his missing agent. He sighed deeply. He prayed that the McGees would not lose both their children to this bastard.

He was startled out of his reverie by the ring of his cell phone. "Gibbs."

"Boss," began Tony, "We talked to one of the doctors at the clinic. He told us Grimes takes a hospital shuttle bus into to town and usually gets off at the Arlington Plaza. Then, a guy, I think he's a patient, said Grimes claimed to own a yellow motorcycle. I think it may be an Indian. Don't know what year or model, there can't be too many of those around."

Gibbs felt a surge of excitement. At last, a lead that might help them track down Grimes. "Contact Abby and tell her to make a list of places near the Arlington Plaza where someone could store a motorcycle. Get down there and start checking them. See if Abby can find any more information on that bike. If we can track down that motorcycle we might just find Grimes. Also, make sure she keeps checking for McGee's cell. I'll catch up with you in Arlington."

"On it, Boss."

Gibbs snapped his phone shut and strode from the apartment, locking the door behind him.

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A/N: Thanks for the reviews and support! There may be a delay with the next chapter but I'll get it up as soon as I am able. Thanks again for reading!


	11. Chapter 11

**CHAPTER ELEVEN**

McGee drove instinctively as he followed the yellow motorcycle. It never quite lost him and a part of his brain warned him he was being led into a trap. But, he didn't care. The only thought that made it through the unrelenting pounding in his skull was to get this bastard and kill him. After that, McGee didn't care what happened. His sister would be safe.

The motorcycle led him up and down the city streets, further into the more derelict parts of town. It was dark now and the streets were relatively clear. He had long ago lost track of where they were, so focused was he on catching up to the small blur of yellow dancing teasingly just ahead of him. The roar of the Porsche's powerful engine drowned out the pounding in McGee's ears. The adrenaline rushing through his system made it easier for him to ignore his pain.

McGee noticed they were approaching what appeared to be an abandoned industrial complex. He cursed. This was bad. It would be easy for Grimes to lose him in there. He watched as the motorcycle zipped through a gap in the fence. McGee screeched to a halt just outside the chain link. There was no way the Porsche would fit through that gap. He watched with growing fury as the motorcycle pulled to a halt about a hundred yards away. The driver turned to look back at McGee, gave him a mocking salute, then disappeared around the corner of the building. McGee gritted his teeth and took a deep breath. He had to think clearly, but it was hard through a red haze of pain and anger. He pulled out his revolver and checked to make sure it was loaded and ready. Sweat covered his face as a wave of nausea washed over him. He could feel himself shaking.

_Tim, you have to get him. If he gets away, he'll always be a threat to Sarah. _He threw open the car door and lurched to his feet. Clutching the rusted fence for support, he waited for his spinning head to settle. He wanted to scream in frustration. What could he do? Blindly, he thrust his hand into his pocket and searched for his cell phone. Perhaps the time had come to call in back up. Yeah, Gibbs might fire him for disobeying a direct order, but at least Tim would have helped catch his sister's assailant. He flipped open the phone and frowned in confusion. When had he turned it off? He couldn't remember. He turned it on then groaned in dismay. There was no signal. _Damn! _Desperately, he looked around in the wild hope there would be a pay phone, but those days were long gone. Pay phones were far and few between, and there certainly weren't any available in this derelict area.

McGee rubbed his eyes, again wishing the pain would go away so he could think. He could hear his heart beat throbbing in his ears. He took a deep breath and studied the fence before him. Obviously this had been used as a regular gateway in and out of the abandoned complex. It was badly rusted. He turned and stumbled to the back of the Porsche. He kept a tool box back there for emergencies. He smiled grimly when he found a pair of wire cutters. At last something went his way. He just needed to cut away enough of the fencing to allow the small car to get through. He knew he'd never have a chance of catching up with Grimes on foot.

_Do you really think this is a good idea, Tim? _ Tim jerked. That voice. He recognized that voice. It sounded just like Kate's! He turned and blinked in surprise to see his late partner, Kate Todd, standing not ten feet away, an unhappy look on her pale face. _He wants to kill you, Tim. You do know that, right? You can't go in there alone._

Tim felt like his eyes wouldn't focus properly. This couldn't be Kate. She was dead. He knew that, yet she seemed so real. He rubbed his eyes, but the figure still remained. "I have to go, Kate. He'll kill Sarah if I don't. I can't risk letting him get away."

Kate shook her head, her eyes full of pity. _Look at you, Tim. You can barely stand. He's already shown you what he can do to you. Is that what you want? To be tortured again? This isn't your fault. _

"I should have been there for her," Tim whispered resting his pounding head against the cool metal of the fence. "I should have stayed at the hospital with her." He shivered, his body bathed in a cold sweat.

_Tim, call Gibbs. Go get help. You don't have to do this alone. You _can't_ do this alone. This is exactly what Grimes wants. He wants you in there so he can finish what he started. You can't help Sarah if you're dead. _

Tim's head snapped up, his bloodshot eyes blazing with fury. "I can help Sarah by _killing_ that son of a bitch. If I leave, he'll get away and disappear. How many more innocent people will he kill? I can't let that happen, Kate. I've got to go in and get him now!" He turned back to the fence and attacked it with renewed vigor until he had managed to create an opening just large enough to drive the Porsche through. Panting, his arms throbbing from the exertion of cutting through the metal chain link, Tim stepped back to survey his handiwork. It would have to do.

He looked around and saw Kate was gone. He frowned. Had she really been there? She really was dead, wasn't she? He was having increasing difficulty keeping things straight. Enough. It was time to go. He tossed the cutters back into the car and himself into the driver's seat. With a grim look of determination, he carefully maneuvered the car through the opening. Once clear, he accelerated in the hopes of finding Grimes somewhere in the complex. This time, McGee was determined to be the last one standing.

xxxxxxxxxxx

Tony and Ziva settled into the booth of a small cafe and ordered coffee and a couple of hamburgers. The two agents were exhausted. They had just spent hours checking out every garage, self-storage, and parking lot they could find in downtown Arlington. They had stopped in the coffee shop for a quick bite and to figure out where to go next.

"Who would have thought it would be so difficult to locate a bright yellow motorcycle," grumbled Ziva irritably. "A black Harley, yes. But a bright yellow motorcycle? There cannot be too many of those."

The waitress had arrived with the coffee just in time to hear Ziva's complaint. "Y'all looking for a yellow motorcycle?"

Tony blinked in surprise. "Uh, yeah. Have you seen one around here?"

The woman, heavy set and middle aged paused. "Well, I've seen one go down the road towards Buck's shop."

Tony and Ziva exchanged confused glances. "Buck's shop?"

The woman nodded. "Yeah, Buck and his son run a small repair shop a coupla blocks from here and down Lee St." She gave a small snort. "If you can call Lee a street. More like an alley. Buck's the best there is when it comes to fixin' motorcycles. He don't advertise or nuthin'. Simple word of mouth. Anyway, I seen a bright yellow motorcycle head down that way a few times."

Tony and Ziva leaped to their feet. "Thanks!" grinned Tony, throwing several bills onto the table as the two agents rushed from the café. The waitress, her mouth open in surprise, watched them go.

It took only a few minutes for them to locate Lee Street and the garage tucked away at the end. It was dark now and the shop was closed. Silently, guns drawn, the two agents climbed from the car and began to scan the area. Adjacent to the shop was a small fenced parking area where a number of motorcycles were parked. None of them were bright yellow. Tony motioned with his head, and with a nod, Ziva slipped around to the back of the shop. When he was certain she was in place, Tony strode to the front of the shop. He quickly turned the knob, not surprised to find it locked. He took a deep breath and loudly rapped on the door.

"NCIS! Open up!" He waited several moments before trying again. This time, he was rewarded with a light coming on and a shuffling sound behind the door.

A moment later, an irritated bald headed man stood glaring at Tony through the door. "What the hell do you want?"

Swiftly Tony flashed his badge and ID. "NCIS. We're looking for David Grimes."

The man rolled his eyes and shook his head. " Grimes ain't been here for a few days. I don't know where the hell he is. Why don't you ask that other agent with the Porsche? He's the one that took after Dave."

Tony stared at him in surprise. "Other agent? What other agent?"

Buck pulled out a cigarette and lit it. "That sick lookin' guy. Looked like he should be the hospital. Can't remember his name. Oh, wait." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a wrinkled card. He peered at it. "Timothy McGee." He looked back at Tony. "You know 'im?"

Tony nodded. "Yeah, I know him. You said he looked sick?"

The man shrugged. "Pale, shaky. Kept wincing like he was in pain. I think his head hurt."

"When was he here?" Tony could feel his excitement growing.

The man thought a moment. "Oh, maybe a coupla hours ago. Dave pulled up on his Indian, took one look at that McGee guy and took off. Your agent got in his car and lit out after 'im. If anybody should know where Grimes is, it's your guy."

Silently cursing to himself, Tony thanked the man and went in search of Ziva. She appeared several moments later and quietly listened to Tony's report. "McGee has gone after Grimes then."

"Looks that way," sighed Tony getting into the car. "And it doesn't sound like he's doing too good. We gotta find him."

Tony's phone buzzed. Tony flipped it open. It was Gibbs. "Yeah, Boss." He listened intently for a few moments. "Got it. We're on our way. We'll meet you there." He snapped the phone shut and quickly turned on the engine. "Abby finally got a fix on McGee's phone. He's in an industrial park near the river. We'll meet Gibbs there."

Ziva nodded. "I just hope we will be in time."


	12. Chapter 12

**CHAPTER TWELVE**

McGee circled through the industrial complex alert to any signs of Grimes. Although the buildings were dark, the lots were still well lit. Probably as a deterrent to vagrants. McGee doubted they had much effect. Finally, he spotted the yellow motorcycle. It was parked outside a large building in the farthest reaches of the park. Grimes had made no attempt to hide it. McGee pulled to a halt beside the bike and stared at the dark building before him. Somewhere inside was his quarry.

He reached for his gun and gasped in pain as the spike in his head returned with a vengeance. His vision clouded over and he struggled against the strong urge to vomit. A moment later, his entire body began to shake violently, the seatbelt the only thing keeping him secure. It was several moments before he became aware of his surroundings once more, his body soaked by a cold sweat. He took several long quivering breaths trying to pull himself together_. Oh god, now what?_ Blindly, he felt for his gun. It had fallen to the floor.

McGee fumbled with the latch as he unbuckled the seatbelt, then slowly pushed open the car door. With another deep breath, he lurched to his feet and stood unsteadily by the side of the car. He waited apprehensively for any sign of another convulsion. He sighed relief. McGee reached into his pocket and checked his phone again. Still no signal. With a grunt of disgust, he shoved it back. He turned and studied the building once more.

There was a only single door that he could see on this side although there were large windows all along the front and sides of the structure. They were all dark. McGee knew Grimes was in there; he felt it in his gut. He also knew only one of them would come out alive.

_Tim! Don't do it. Wait for the others._

McGee turned and again spied Kate Todd standing a short distance off, her eyes pleading with him to listen.

"No one else is coming, Kate," McGee said flatly. "If I don't get Grimes now, he'll get away again. I told you before, I can't let that happen."

Kate shook her head and scowled. _All that will happen if you go in there alone is _you _will die, and Grimes will still get away. _

"I know what I'm doing, Kate." McGee looked down and checked his weapon. He was ready.

_That's the problem, Tim. You _don't_ know what you're doing. You're not thinking straight. The Tim McGee I knew would never go in alone without backup. He would wait for the team. Please, Tim. Don't go in by yourself. Wait for the others. They'll find you. I know it._

McGee turned away from his old partner. "I'm sorry, Kate. You're dead. You can't help me. I have to go." With that, he turned and strode to the entrance of the building. It was time.

Standing to one side, he slowly pushed open the door and peered in. The light from the tall windows at least partially illuminated the interior. He had a flashlight in his pocket, but he was loathe to turn it on. It would only give Grimes more of a target. However, he doubted Grimes would kill him outright. Grimes liked to play with his prey before moving in for the kill.

Slowly,McGee slipped through the door and into the shadows, his ears straining to catch any sound. _Where was Grimes hiding?_ He gritted his teeth as the pounding in his head matched the pounding of his heart. He looked around. He was in a large open area. There were huge rusted vats connected by a maze of pipes that ran the length of the building, ladders and catwalks crisscrossed the space above. The outside lights provided enough illumination to see as well as created deep shadows in which to hide.

Holding his weapon before him, McGee began to stealthily inch his way across the foyer area into the main plant. It was a struggle to keep his weapon steady, but he wouldn't give up.

"Agent McGeeee? Is that you?" A sing-songing voice echoed overhead. "So nice of you join me." The blast of a gun reverberated in the open space. McGee threw himself to the ground just as the whine of bullet whizzed past. _Where the hell had that come from?_

As silently and as quickly as he could, McGee scuttled farther into the plant, dodging between numerous pipes and valves hoping to put some protection between him and his quarry.

"Did I get you special Agent McGee?" The voice was definitely coming from above. "Surely it can't be that easy? Where's the fun in that? I know how much you enjoy games, agent McGee."

McGee gritted his teeth. That voice. That piercing, malevolent voice. The very sound of it caused his stomach to clench. Images of that night suddenly ran through his head – the agony, the screaming… _Stop!_ McGee fought to bring himself back to the present. He couldn't let this bastard get inside his head. He _had_ to stay alert. He looked at his hands, willing them to stop shaking. He had to end this soon.

McGee poked his head out from behind the tall metal cylinder that was providing his cover and holding his gun at the ready, scanned the catwalks above. He was certain Grimes was above him. There! He caught the slightest movement on the catwalk to his left. He took a deep breath, carefully aimed and as he slowly exhaled, fired.

For a moment, McGee could hear nothing but the ringing of the shot in his ears. Then he made out a long string of profanity spewing from above. McGee smiled. He might not have killed the bastard, but he obviously did some kind of damage.

"You son of a bitch!" screamed Grimes, his voice strained and furious, "For that, I am going to make you really suffer. And after I kill you, I'm gonna get your little bitch of sister! Do you hear me, McGee? Sarah's gonna suffer in ways that'll make her wish she'd never had a goddam brother."

McGee leaned back against the side of the cylinder as another splinter of agony stabbed through his brain. Maybe he'd evened out the odds a little, but he knew he was running out of time. The pain in his head was getting worse. He was so tired now. If only he could just lie down and sleep. He had to get Grimes and soon. He could now hear Grimes moving along the catwalk overhead, obviously searching for McGee.

McGee tried to get another shot, but the maze of pipes made getting a clear line of fire difficult. He could just make out a figure above and to the left of him. McGee slowly pulled himself to his feet. He began to cautiously follow the movement above his head. He darted from one cylinder to the next, using them as a barrier between him and the killer above. Overhead, Grimes scuttled in the dark like a malevolent spider.

Abruptly, the man whirled and fired directly at McGee. McGee ducked again and fired his own gun several times in response. A moment later he heard Grimes' boots clanging along the metal catwalk heading farther into the plant. McGee hurried after him, still trying to use the steel cylinders and pipes as a protective barrier. He had run several yards farther into the plant when he had to stop and catch his breath. The pounding in his head was escalating with his activity. Spots danced across his vision. _No, no, no, no! _He sucked in air, trying to bring his heartbeat down. After several moments McGee realized he no longer heard Grimes. He froze, his gaze swung wildly around trying to pinpoint Grimes' whereabouts. Again he cursed his current condition.

McGee crept ahead, more cautiously now, his gun held at the ready. He would shoot the first chance he got. If he got a chance. He could feel a trickle of sweat running down the side of his face. Irritably, he shook his head. He regretted the movement instantly. Gritting his teeth, McGee kept moving. _Damn it!_ _Where was Grimes? _He paused again, trying to pick out any telltale sounds. All he heard was his own rasping breath.

"Looking for me?"

McGee's head snapped up. Grimes stood staring down at him from the catwalk almost directly above; his gun pointed at McGee's head. He fired.

McGee tried to throw himself to the side to avoid the shot. He wasn't as lucky this time. He gasped as he felt a spear of fire pierce his upper chest. He rolled under one of the vats just avoiding a second shot. Panting, he grabbed his shoulder as his whole body went cold. Warm blood quickly soaked the front of his shirt, the bullet lodged deep in his shoulder. He didn't think anything vital had been damaged, but blood loss was a definite concern.

McGee fought against the white mist that hovered around the edges of his vision. He couldn't pass out – not now. Biting back a cry of pain, he again peered around the cylinder and instinctively fired as a shot above slammed into the metal just above his head.

Still with me, Special Agent McGee?" sneered Grimes. McGee thought he sounded out of breath. "Good. I was worried there for a minute."

McGee could hear Grimes on the move again. It sounded like he was climbing down a ladder. McGee had to go. He struggled to his feet, clutching a pipe for support. The room was spinning and the burning pain in his chest and shoulder now radiated through his entire body, his legs threatening to collapse beneath him. He heard a clang behind and whirled to find Grimes standing at the base of a ladder ten feet away. He was staring at McGee, a gun pointed at the agent's chest. McGee tried to raise his own weapon, but he couldn't find the strength. It was seeping away with his blood. The gun slipped from his hand and clattered to the floor. McGee now noticed a dark stain spreading across the lower front of Grimes' shirt. So had had gotten him. Tim felt a distinct sense of grim satisfaction in that. He hadn't failed completely.

"You're going to die now, Special Agent McGee," panted Grimes as he stepped closer. McGee could see he was struggling, but still, he seemed in better shape than McGee. "I wish I had the time to wire you up like that other night but I have the feeling time is running out. We had some fun then, didn't we? You screamed just like a little baby. I've tortured women that screamed less than you, McGee. Some tough, NCIS agent you are. Then, when you're dead, I'm going back to that hospital and spend some real quality time with your baby sister before I kill her."

McGee pulled himself up as tall as he could. It was so hard to focus. "You'll never make it out of here alive, Grimes. Look at you. You'll bleed to death right along with me."

"No!" snarled Grimes, the gun in his hand wavered slightly. "I _don't_ fail. Don't you get it? I shot four people. Four people have to die. It's a simple as that. Your sister should have died. It's all her fault. None of this would have happened if she had died like she was supposed to! " He shook his head. "I really should have just killed you that night."

Tim simply stared at Grimes. He felt more and more detached from the whole situation. He was oddly at peace with his coming death. He smiled at Grimes. "Even if you kill me, they know who you are. NCIS is looking for you, Grimes. You're a dead man."

Grimes eyes narrowed, his jaw clenched. McGee could see the man's pale face was drenched with sweat. "Not as dead as you, special Agent McGee." He raised the gun. McGee closed his eyes. The last thing he heard was the explosion of a gun as he felt a bullet rip through his body.


	13. Chapter 13

**CHAPTER THIRTEEN**

"McGee! Tim! Can you hear me?"

The voice sounded a million miles away. McGee tried to focus on it. He heard his name again as the voice pulled him up from the abyss. It was Gibbs'. Was Gibbs dead too?

"Is he alive, Boss?" Strange. That sounded like Tony.

"Barely. Call for the ambulance. C'mon, Tim, listen to me. _Wake up_! I need you to open your eyes. C'mon Tim, you can do it."

McGee struggled to do as he was asked. His eyelids must have weighed ten pounds each. He felt so cold. Everything hurt. He finally managed to open them just a crack. He tried to focus on the blurry face hovering above him. It _was_ Gibbs.

"That's it, Tim. C'mon, stay with me. I don't want to lose you. Can you hear me? Sarah needs you. Don't give up!"

Tim tried to speak but his mouth was parched. He licked his lips and managed to rasp out a single word. "Grimes?"

"We got him, Tim. You don't have to worry about him anymore. Okay? Now, look at me. That's right. Just stay with me…"

The voice droned on and on, but McGee had heard all he really needed to know. Grimes was dead. Sarah would be safe now. He closed his eyes and let the white mist envelope him once more.

xxxxxxxxx

Gibbs knelt beside Tim, calling desperately, trying to bring the young man back to him. Ziva hurried over with a blanket and first aid kit. Quickly, they fashioned compresses to put over the wounds to try and staunch the bleeding. He'd been hit in the shoulder but the wound in his abdomen was Gibbs' biggest concern. There was an ominously large circle of blood already pooled beneath McGee's body.

Tony crouched down beside them, his face full of anguish. "The ambulance is on its way, Boss. How's he doing?"

Gibbs just shook his head. McGee was going into shock. "Not good. I had him for a minute, but then lost him again. I hope that ambulance gets here fast."

He now glanced off to the side where another figure lay still in the darkness. He, Ziva and Tony and arrived just in time to see the face-off between Grimes and McGee. Gibbs had taken Grimes down without a second's hesitation. He thought they had been in time. He was wrong.

"Looks like Tim got Grimes, too," said Tony softly. "Besides the bullet you put in his head, Grimes has a second wound in his abdomen. Probie didn't go down without a fight. But, Boss, Grimes isn't dead. Not quite."

Gibbs' head whirled to stare at Tony in disbelief, then he closed his eyes. _Damn_. He was certain he'd killed the son of a bitch. This never should have happened. Tim should not have been here alone with this bastard. He should have forced McGee to stay in the hospital. Should have, should have…it made no difference now. What was done was done, and McGee had paid the price. Gibbs opened his eyes again as he detected the far off sound of the ambulance. He noticed Ziva was gone.

"She went to wait by the fence; to guide the ambulance here," Tony said quietly.

Gibbs simply nodded. His hands were covered with McGee's blood where he firmly held the compresses against Tim's wounds. He didn't think it was helping much. The sirens were closer now; almost there. He felt numb. He dreaded having to tell Tim's parents what had happened to their son. At least they had Grimes. That was one small consolation. They didn't have to worry about him anymore. With any luck, he'd die, and that would be the end of it.

Gibbs continued to talk softly to the unconscious man beside him, urging him to fight, to stay with them, not to give up. He had no idea if McGee heard any of his words, but it made him feel better to think perhaps he was doing some good.

A few minutes later, he heard the paramedics arrive. They quickly assessed the situation and gently pushed Gibbs out of the way as they went about their business. Gibbs got to his feet and stood silently watching, his bloodied hands hanging helplessly by his side. Ziva and Tony joined him, watching with stricken expressions. At last the paramedics loaded McGee onto a gurney and into the waiting ambulance. A second ambulance could be heard in the distance.

Gibbs turned to Tony. "I'm going to the hospital with Tim. You and Ziva finish up here."

Tony nodded then hesitated. "What about Abby? Shouldn't we tell her?"

Gibbs sighed deeply and looked away. "I'll tell her." He then turned abruptly and left.

For several moments, Tony and Ziva stood staring at the pool of dark blood. Then, in unspoken agreement, then turned and began to run the crime scene while they waited for the ambulance to come and take Grimes away.

xxxxxxxxxx

With a soft click, Gibbs snapped his cell phone shut. He had just called McGee's parents where they were holding their vigil at Sarah's bedside. McGee's father had said little when Gibbs informed him of what had happened to Tim, but he could hear the pain in the man's voice as he repeated back the information for the hospital where Tim had been taken. Gibbs rubbed his aching head. Maybe he was getting too old for this.

His original plan had been to go directly to the hospital with McGee, but realized he owed it to McGee's parents to let them know what had happened. And now he needed to tell Abby. He didn't want her to find out from someone else. He couldn't do anything for Tim right now, but he could be there for Abby.

He slipped the phone into his pocket and climbed from the car. Five minutes later found him standing just outside the forensics lab. He could hear Abby's loud music blaring from the speakers as she hummed along. He squared his shoulders and went in.

It took a moment for Abby to realize Gibbs was there. She beamed at him for a second before her smile faded as she took in his expression. She then noticed the dark stains on his clothing. "Gibbs?"

"Abby…"

"No!" she cried, covering her ears with her hands. "Not Tim! I don't want to hear it! I can't lose another one! Don't tell me Tim is dead. No! No! No!" She turned away from Gibbs as if she could shut out whatever he had to say by not looking at him.

Gibbs gently took her by the shoulders and turned her to face him. "Abby," he said firmly. "McGee is not dead. He's been badly hurt, but he was still alive when the paramedics took him to the hospital."

Tears were streaming down her pale face. Sobs shook her thin shoulders as she allowed Gibbs to embrace her. "He's not dead, Abs," repeated Gibbs softly. "He won't die. I told him not to."

Abby smiled a little at that. She stepped away from Gibbs and wiped her eyes. "Where is he? I want to see him. I want to be there for him."

Gibbs nodded. "That's why I'm here. C'mon."

An hour later found Gibbs and Abby entering the hospital waiting room. Tony and Ziva looked up from where they sat beside the McGees. They rose and met Gibbs and Abby. Ziva took a sobbing Abby in her arms doing her best to comfort her friend.

Gibbs turned to Tony. "Any word?"

Tony shook his head. "Not yet. All I know is he was still alive when they got here. He's in surgery now." He glanced over at the McGees. "Grimes is also in surgery. I was hoping the bastard wouldn't survive the trip here."

Gibbs grimaced then looked past his agent to where the McGees huddled miserably together, waiting for news of their son. Mrs. Gibbs wiped her eyes. Gibbs put a hand on Tony's shoulder then walked over to the McGees.

"I can't tell you how sorry I am about all this," began Gibbs.

Tim's father looked up at Gibbs, his face hard. "Your agent told me you got the SOB that did all this. That right?"

"Yes, sir."

The elder McGee stood and shook Gibbs by the hand. "Then you have nothing to apologize for, Agent Gibbs. Tim knew the risks when he joined NCIS. Frankly, I thought NCIS was a waste of his talents, but he loved it. He's changed a lot since he's been there, and I think we have you to thank for that."

"Sir, your son is one of our best agents. I wouldn't have picked him for my team if I hadn't seen that potential in him. He just needed to find it in himself."

Admiral McGee nodded slowly. Releasing Gibbs' hand, he resumed his seat by his wife.

xxxxxxxxx

Gibbs now sat by himself, a cup of cold coffee forgotten in his hand. In his head, he couldn't help but replay the night's events. Had it just been a few hours ago? It felt like a lifetime.

He had reached the plant shortly before Tony and Ziva. It hadn't taken long to locate the opening in the fence. It had, however, taken considerably longer to finally find Tim's Porsche and the yellow Indian motorcycle. Would things have turned out differently if they had located the vehicles sooner? Gibbs mentally shook his head. No use in going there.

They piled out of the cars and stared at the huge building. Ziva nodded to Gibbs and disappeared around the corner, checking for other possible exits. Together, he and Tony cautiously approached the front door. It was open. They listened for any sounds then slipped inside, guns at the ready.

Tony was about to move forward when Gibbs placed a warning hand on his arm. It was then they heard voices.

_You're going to die, Special Agent McGee. I wish I had the time to wire you up like that other night_ _but I have the feeling time is running out. We had some fun then, didn't we? You screamed just like a little baby. I've tortured women that screamed less than you. Some tough, NCIS agent you are. Then I'm going back to that hospital and spend some real quality time with your baby sister before I kill her._

Ducky had been right. That bastard had tortured McGee, and Tim never said a word. Gibbs gritted his teeth as his anger at hearing Grimes' admission threatened to erupt

_You'll never make it out of here alive, Grimes. Look at you. You'll bleed to death right along with me_.

Gibbs frowned. Was McGee injured? He silently signaled Tony. The two of them darted forward, trying to pinpoint the location of the voices. Gibbs knew they were about to run out of time. The voices continued.

_No! I don't fail. Don't you get it? I shot four people. Four people have to die. It's as simple as that. Your sister should have died. It's all her fault. None of this would have happened if she had died like she was supposed to! I should have just killed you that night._

_Even if you kill me, they know who you are. NCIS is looking for you, Grimes. You're a dead man._

_Not as dead as you, special Agent McGee. _

It was then they spotted McGee standing helpless before the armed madman. Grimes' gun was pointed directly at him. Gibbs acted on sheer instinct. Perhaps he should have called a warning first, but he knew Grimes would have killed McGee immediately. No, Gibbs simply aimed and fired, hitting Grimes in the side of the head. The instant he hit Grimes, a second shot rang out. Gibbs watched in horror as first Grimes, then McGee crumpled to the floor.

He bolted for the fallen men, with Tony not a second behind. Gibbs hovered over McGee, staring at the spreading pool of blood. It was not something he would ever forget. He had been positive McGee was dead. How could he not be? But, he refused to let him go like that. He could remember begging McGee to open his eyes, look at him, not give up. And McGee _had_ looked at him. Gibbs clearly remembered that moment of relief. Tim wasn't dead, not yet at least. He also remembered the grief and desperation he'd felt when he'd lost McGee again. _Tim, I it's my fault. I wasn't there in time. I should never have let you leave the hospital._ He wasn't sure he could ever forgive himself for being so stupid. He wasn't sure he could handle losing another of his team. Losing Kate had been devastating. Losing Tim would be like losing a son.

Gibbs looked up as an exhausted looking doctor appeared in the doorway. "Is there someone here for Timothy McGee?" He looked slightly taken aback when they all stood.

"We're his parents," announced Admiral McGee stepping forward, his wife close at his side. "How is he?"

The doctor glanced at the anxious group before continuing. "We've managed to repair the damage done to his liver and shoulder. He lost a massive amount of blood which we are working to replace. He is still very much critical, but barring any complications, both wounds should heal."

McGee's mother released a small sob. Her husband placed a comforting arm around her. He looked at the doctor. "And his head? We understand he may be suffering from bleeding into his brain."

The doctor looked more grim now. "Yes. I'm afraid that's true. A subdural hematoma. Agent McGee had suffered a significant amount of bleeding into his brain as a result of an earlier injury. We were forced to remove part of the skull to alleviate the pressure and stop the bleeding as well as to remove as much of the clot as we could."

"And? What are his chances?"

The doctor hesitated again. "I don't know. Survival rates for these kinds of injuries are often less than fifty percent. He's in a deep coma right now and on a respirator. He may come out of it or he may not. If he comes out of it, he may have suffered some degree of brain damage."

Gibbs felt himself go cold. It was déjà vu. He glanced at McGee's parents. This was essentially the same prognosis they were given for Sarah. What a nightmare. Both of their children lying in comas and facing possible death or damage to their brains. If they did awaken, who would they be?

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A/N: Only two chapters left. Thanks again for reading my story and special thanks to those of you who have taken the time to review. It means a lot to me!


	14. Chapter 14

**CHAPTER FOURTEEN**

McGee's parents transferred Sarah to the same hospital where Tim was so they could more easily spend time with both their children. Temporary housing was arranged for the elder McGees by the Navy, allowing them to remain nearby. There was no telling how long they might have to stay. If the worst came to pass and they never regained consciousness, then they would eventually transfer the children to a long care facility. But for now, they continued to pray.

Tim was not there when Sarah finally opened her eyes. It was three weeks from the day she had been shot. He was not there to help comfort her when she learned of the deaths of her friends. Nor was he there when she learned of his fate.

The doctors were optimistic Sarah would make a full recovery. Tests showed that beyond some short term memory issues, she seemed to have avoided any major damage. It was possible something would show up farther down the road, but for now the doctors felt confident she would be able to resume her normal life. Sarah wasn't sure she even knew what normal meant anymore.

Sarah sat beside her brother's bedside. Since her parents had told her of Tim's search for her assailant, Sarah stayed close to him as much as she could. Even after the doctors had discharged her, she came day after day. She read to him, talked to him, even sang to him on occasion. She pleaded with him to return to her and not to leave them all alone. She cried until she had no more tears left to shed.

This afternoon, she was reading to him. It was one of Tim's favorite books, _Ender's Game_ by Orson Scott Card. She'd read it to him twice already and found some comfort in the now familiar words.

"Hello?"

Sarah looked up from her reading to see Tony DiNozzo standing uncertainly in the doorway.

"I didn't mean to disturb you," began Tony. "I just came by to see Tim." He smiled at her. "How are you Sarah?"

Sarah smiled back. She liked Tony. He was pretty cool for an old guy. Well, maybe he wasn't _that_ old but still. "I'm good. C'mon in. I'm sure Tim would love to see you." She stood. "I'll give you some time alone."

Tony slowly entered the room as Sarah moved past him. He'd been here before, several times, but it never got any easier.

"Hey, Probie," he said softly resting his hand on Tim's arm. "How ya doin? You're lookin' good. Things haven't been the same since you've been gone. We had to bring in a new tech guy, Roger, but he can't hold a candle to you, buddy. He's only there till you're back on your feet. And I hope that's really soon because frankly, Roger is no fun. So, anytime you wanna wake up and quit goldbricking is fine by me."

He stared at McGee's pale, unresponsive face. They had taken him off the respirator at least, but it had been five weeks since he'd been admitted and still showed no signs of regaining consciousness. Tony felt the all too familiar lump in the back of his throat.

"What really happened, Tony?"

Tony turned to find Sarah watching him. She had lost weight since her own ordeal and looked so lost.

"All Mom and Dad will tell me is he went after the guy who shot me. That's how he got injured. I think there's more to it than that."

Tony sighed. Yes, there was more. How much should he tell her? Should he tell her anything for that matter?

"Tony," persisted Sarah, walking up to him. Her eyes bored through him. "I am not a child. My brother is lying here like a vegetable because of me. I think I have right to know exactly what happened to put him here! I'm having a hard enough time dealing with this without knowing exactly what happened. I _need_ to know it all."

Tony grimaced slightly then nodded. "All right. I'll tell you. At least as much as I know. Tim wasn't talking much to us there towards the end."

He sat on one of the chairs as Sarah settled into the other. Tony stared at the floor for a few moments before beginning. "When Tim realized you were one of the victims of that shooting at the park, he nearly went nuts trying to find you. I've never seen him so scared in my life. He would have torn that campground apart looking for you. Gibbs managed to calm him down and took him to the hospital to check on you. He promised Tim he could keep working on the case." Tony shook his head and chuckled. "Like he could have stopped him. You know your brother. Give him a computer and an internet connection and he's like the king of the world."

Sarah smiled as she wiped her eyes. Oh yes, she was all too familiar with Tim's superlative computer skills.

"Anyway, things got a little weird after that. Apparently Grimes found out NCIS was working the case, and that your brother was an NCIS agent. He decided to have some 'fun'. He called Tim and taunted him. Seems Grimes had managed to get into the hospital at some point and took some photos of you. He passed one of those on to Tim which provoked him enough to go looking for Grimes on his own."

"But Tim never does anything against the rules," said Sarah with a frown.

Tony gave a rueful laugh. "You're right. Normally, he wouldn't. But he was so protective of you, that I don't think he was thinking straight. Maybe he got to Grimes' hideout and couldn't call for backup. I don't know. All I know is that when he got there, Grimes was waiting for him."

Tony paused and shook his head. _Oh Probie, why did you have to do that? Why didn't you call us for help? _

"Then?"

Tony frowned. This part wasn't entirely clear. "I don't know for sure because Tim wouldn't admit to what happened. We know Grimes hit him in the head with something, maybe a bat. That's what caused the bleeding in his brain." He hesitated again.

"Just tell me what happened, Tony." Sarah laid a hand on Tony's arm. "Please."

Tony looked away and sighed. "Grimes tortured him. Electric shocks. Ducky saw some signs and tried to get Tim to admit it happened. I guess Tim never would. But that night, in the plant, Grimes said something that pretty much confirmed what we suspected. I think Tim was so scared that if he admitted he'd been tortured, Gibbs would take him off the case. Same with the head injury."

Sarah was silent. "So, if he'd told somebody about what happened, they would have put him the hospital and could have stopped the bleeding in his brain. Then he wouldn't be like this!" She suddenly turned and slammed her fist into the mattress near McGee's head. "You moron!" she cried, tears now running freely down her face. "Why did you have to be so brave and noble and all that crap? Why didn't you call for help? Why!"

She was sobbing now. Tony looked uncertain for a moment then gently took her in his arms, holding her tightly as she poured her heart out. Sarah put up a tough front and sometimes people forgot how young she really was. Tony could only imagine what was going on in her head.

"Sarah, just remember, this isn't your fault. It's Grimes'. He started it all. He is solely responsible for everything that happened. Tim loves you and would do anything to protect you. That was his only weakness."

Sarah, her face blotched with tears, pulled a kleenex from the box by the bedside and blew her nose. "I know, Tony," she whispered. "At least that's what I keep telling myself. But if it had been Kylie or Travis or Erik that had survived, you know Tim wouldn't have gone off after Grimes like that. He would have gone by the book. And why am I here at all? Why did I survive? I should have died with the others. " Fresh tears had appeared. "How can I not blame myself?"

Tony smiled softly. "You can't. No more than I can help blaming myself for not being there with him. Or Gibbs blaming himself for not keeping closer tabs on him, or Ducky blaming himself for not making McGee stay in the hospital. Sarah, you didn't ask to be shot in the head by some lunatic. You were at the wrong place at the wrong time."

Tony reached out and took Sarah's hand. "I know you're wondering why you survived and the others didn't. That's natural. I've been there. There…There was a time when our team was supposed to take weekend duty. We swapped with another team and… well, they all ended up dead. I often wonder why we were spared. Why did they have to die? I have felt guilt over that episode ever since. It goes with being a survivor." He paused. "I like to think that we survived because we still have something important to do in our lives."

Sarah thought about this for a moment. "I can't imagine what that would be. I'm a pretty useless human being." Then with a sigh, she turned to look again at her brother. "What happened after that? Why didn't Tim stay in the hospital?"

"Somehow, he managed to convince Ducky and the ER doctor that he was okay and they let him go. I guess his x-rays didn't show any obvious problems, and it wasn't until later someone realized there could be some bleeding going on. Anyway, apparently Grimes wasn't done with him yet and sent him some more texts or emails that got McGee going again. I'm not sure how clearly he was thinking at that point, but Tim arrived at the hospital late one night claiming Grimes had gotten to you again. Yet, there was no proof. No texts or photos and the security detail claimed they'd never left their posts. So there was nothing. Gibbs sent McGee home and told him to take the next day off. But, you know your brother. There was no way he was going to sit back and do nothing. He managed to track Grimes down, even before we did. He caught up with him at an old chemical plant."

"That's where you found them."

Tony nodded. "Yeah. That's where we found them. Ziva and I met up with Gibbs. Ziva went around the back and Gibbs and me went through the front." Tony's voice became softer as he found himself reliving those moments.

"I could hear some voices. It was hard to tell exactly where they were coming from. The plant had these huge windows and the big lights outside managed to give us enough light so we could see pretty well without the flashlights. Those would have given us away and ruined our night vision. Anyway, we kept moving in closer. There were all these big vats and pipes and things so it was hard to see where they were. That's when we heard Grimes say something about having tortured Tim." Tony remembered clearly the chill that had run through him when Grimes had talked about torturing Tim. A picture of McGee screaming in agony had appeared in his mind. He'd felt physically ill, then furious. He knew at that moment Grimes would never leave that plant alive if he could do anything about it. Tony became aware of Sarah's grip on his hand. It had tightened dramatically as she watched him with bruised eyes. She looked down at her brother again.

"Oh, Tim…"

Tony swallowed and licked his lips before continuing. "It's then we saw them. Tim was standing near some cylinders and Grimes was about ten feet away, his gun pointing directly at Tim."

_Not as dead as you, special Agent McGee._

He'd wanted to scream a warning, but was afraid that would cause Grimes to pull the trigger in response. It was then he became aware of Gibbs beside him, gun raised.

"Gibbs shot him. He was a sniper in the Marines, y'know. A crack shot. There were so many pipes and things all over, it was amazing that he didn't hit any of them. He got Grimes with one shot. Right through the head." _Unfortunately, he didn't kill the son of a bitch._

Grimes had fired his gun as he fell and when Tony had seen Tim collapse, he had been certain Tim was dead. He wasn't far off. Tim had been shot. Twice as it turned out. Again, Tony remembered the dark circle of blood pooled around McGee. He was bleeding so much. How could anyone lose that much blood and still be alive?

Tony had gone directly to Grimes, kicking the gun away from killer's hand. He wasn't moving and Tony had been sure Grimes was dead. He was wrong. Tony cursed vehemently as he detected a faint pulse. He noted the bullet hole in the side of Grimes' head but was surprised to see Grimes' shirt was soaked with blood just above his belt. He smiled grimly as he realized the significance. _Attaboy Probie_.

_Is he alive, Boss?_

_Barely. Call for the ambulance. C'mon, Tim, listen to me. Wake up! I need you to open your eyes. C'mon Tim, you can do it._

Tony made the call, then watched helplessly as Gibbs tried to connect with McGee, keep him with them. Ziva had appeared at that point, assessed the situation and gone to the car for a blanket and first aid kit. The blood just wouldn't stop coming.

"Tony?"

Tony blinked. "Oh, uh, yeah. He hesitated again. "As you know, Grimes wasn't dead. But I saw a second wound in his abdomen. Seems Tim had also hit him at some point. Tim didn't go down without a fight. The ambulance came and took Tim away. Gibbs went too. Ziva and I stayed to work the crime scene and wait for them to get Grimes." There were times Tony wished he could have turned over that scene to someone else, someone less emotionally vested, but he knew he could never do that. Nor would Gibbs or Ziva. They owed it to McGee to be there for him.

"That's pretty much it." Tony shrugged. "You know the rest. He survived the gunshot wounds after they put him back together and pumped him full of blood. He survived them going in and cutting open his skull. He's still here and I think he's gonna wake up. We just need to wait for him."

Sarah finally smiled. "Thank you, Tony. I plan to wait as long as it takes."

Tony smiled in return. "So will I."


	15. Chapter 15

**CHAPTER FIFTEEN**

McGee was eventually transferred to long term care facility in Maryland. His parents decided to keep him near D.C. where his NCIS family could visit. The McGees felt their presence could only help. It also allowed Sarah to return to school but still be close to her brother.

It was fourteen weeks after that night in the plant when McGee began to first show signs of regaining consciousness. Sarah was there again, once more reading _Ender's Game_.

Sarah paused to rub her eyes and take a sip of water. She then glanced over at her brother and froze. His eyes - They were open! Dropping the book, Sarah jumped to her feet and leaned over Tim.

"Tim, can you hear me? Tim! It's me, Sarah! Can you hear me?" There was no response. Tim's eyes stared off across the room. He gave no sign that he'd heard her. That didn't deter Sarah. She knew from her own experience, waking up from a coma didn't happen all at once. But, it was a sign! A positive sign and for the first time in a long time, Sarah began to feel some hope again that her brother would return to them.

The next sign came when Abby was there. Abby made a point of coming to see Tim two or three times a week. She refused to believe he might never wake up. She talked to him about what was going on at work, talked out problems she was trying to solve, or just about life in general. It didn't matter. She just wanted him to know she was nearby and hadn't forgotten him. It was raining and Abby had been telling McGee about the beautiful rainbow she'd seen on her way to see him. She held his hand as she described what she'd seen.

"You would have loved it, Timmy," she sighed. "It was a double rainbow, and so bright! I mean, you couldn't miss them and I bet if we followed them to the end, we'd find that pot of gold. Waddaya think?"

It was then she felt him lightly squeeze her hand. Abby's mouth went dry as she slowly turned to her gaze to their intertwined hands.

"Timmy?" She held her breath. There! She felt it again! Now she turned to look at his face. His eyes were closed but for the first time, she felt like he was there, just below the surface and wanted to let her know. "Oh, Tim," she whispered, her dark eyes brimming with unshed tears. "Please come back soon. We need you. I need you." She bit her lip as she felt him squeeze a third and final time. She waited, never daring to let go, but he had slipped away again.

The third time, no one was there. It was very late and the ward was quiet. Tim opened his eyes. The room was softly lit by the nightlight the nurses kept burning in each room. Slowly, his eyes panned across the small chamber taking in everything – the chair, the closet, the bathroom. He recognized these things. _A hospital. _He thought. _I'm in a hospital. I'm not dead. That's good. _He closed his eyes, but this time he simply went to sleep.

The next morning, he awakened to the sound of someone entering the room. He didn't move, just waited.

"Good morning, Mr. McGee," said a friendly voice. A woman's voice. "How are we doin' today? You gonna wake up for us today?" He could feel the woman doing something to his IV, then arranging the covers around him as she continued to chatter away. "Oh darn it. I forgot to get you a new diaper. Be right back."

At that, McGee's eyes shot open. _Diaper? What? _He looked around again. It was the same room he remembered from the night before, but it was now flooded with warm morning light. How long had he been here?

"Oh my lord, you're awake!" Tim looked over to the door and saw a middle aged black woman, her arms full bedding and supplies. He recognized her voice. Now she was staring wide-eyed as she cautiously approached him. "Mr. McGee? Can you understand me?"

McGee tried to speak but realized there was some sort of tube going down his throat. A feeding tube? He settled for simply nodding.

The woman smiled broadly, her eyes glistening with tears and excitement. "Thank the Lord! I can tell you, there are going to be a lot of happy people here today!"

The doctor was called in immediately. He was as amazed and excited as the nurse had been. "Mr. McGee," he said after conducting his tests. "Welcome back. How do you feel?"

McGee struggled to swallow. His throat was sore from the tube which had been recently removed. "How…long?"

"How long have you been in a coma?"

Tim nodded.

"Four months. You've been showing signs off and on of coming out of it for the past two weeks, so we've been hopeful. Your family has been here every day as well as some of your friends."

Tim frowned. There was something he was trying to remember. His eyes widened. "Sarah?"

The doctor nodded. "You want to know if your sister is all right? I can assure you, she's fine. She recovered quite nicely from her own brain injury. She comes here every day. She reads to you. Do you remember any of that?"

Tim frowned again. For some reason, he could hear Sarah reading to him. He couldn't remember her ever reading to him. "_Ender's Game_…"

"That's right!" beamed the doctor, holding up the book that was always sitting by Tim's bedside. "_Ender's Game_. That's what she's been reading. She said it was one of your favorites."

Tim smiled faintly. Yes. He loved that book and had read it numerous times. He was surprised Sarah remembered. He didn't think she actually paid any attention to what he liked. He was deeply touched that she had been reading it to him. He suddenly felt very tired and closed his eyes.

xxxxxxxxxx

"Tim? Can you hear me? Tim, it's Sarah. Are you there?"

Tim slowly became aware of the voice. Inwardly he smiled. It was his sister. Sarah was calling him. He forced his eyes open to find her sitting beside him, her hand tightly gripping his. Just behind her were his parents. His mother had tears streaming down her face, his father's eyes were hopeful.

"Sarah," he croaked and smiled. He swallowed. "Mom…Dad."

"Oh, Tim!" His mother all but threw herself across her son. "Oh my God, Tim. We thought we'd lost you!"

He closed his eyes for a moment. His thoughts were slow in coming. "I'm…fine."

His mother smiled at him, her cheeks glistening with her tears. She gently pushed his hair from his brow. "You will be now, sweetheart. It's all going to be all right. You'll see."

Tim smiled at her but inside he wondered. He knew recovery would take some time, but how much would he be changed? He'd read stories of people who had suffered head injuries and when they awoke, were very different. Some suffered from drastic personality changes, others from brain damage that affected their entire lives. Would that be him? He was scared over what the future might hold.

Tim still spent a good portion of his time asleep, although his periods of consciousness were becoming longer. He especially relished his time with Sarah. Seeing her alive and well made all the horrors he had experienced seem worthwhile. He would never take his sister for granted again.

It was over a week before his doctor would allow visitors outside of his immediate family to come see him. He didn't want McGee to become overstimulated. So far, McGee's recovery was progressing well, and Dr. Embry wanted to keep it that way.

It was a Saturday afternoon when the first team members came to see him. It was decided that only a couple would come in at a time. The first were Tony and Abby.

Uncertainly, Abby peered around the doorframe. "Tim?" she called softly.

"Abby, c'mon in," said McGee with a warm smile. He was excited to see her.

"Timmy!" she squealed rushing in and throwing her arms around him. "You remember me! I was so worried you wouldn't know who I was!"

Tim laughed weakly. "I could never forget you, Abby." He brushed her dark hair away from her face. "I'm really glad you came."

"You glad I came too, Probie?"

Tim looked up to see Tony standing in the doorway, a big grin on his face.

"Tony!"

"Yeah," replied Tony as he sauntered in, trying to keep a nonchalant attitude. "Thought we'd see if you were ready to quit layin' around and get back to work." He grinned even broader. Then became serious. "We were really worried about you, Tim. Thought we'd lost you for sure."

Tim leaned back against the pillows, his hand firmly held by Abby's. He had fought hard against thinking about the events that had brought him to this place. About Grimes, the night of torture, the showdown in the chemical plant. He felt himself beginning to tremble as the memories threatened to overwhelm him.

"Timmy," whispered Abby softly. "It's okay. We're here with you. Everything is going to be fine. You'll be back at NCIS in no time."

McGee suddenly snorted in disbelief. "Do you really think so, Abby? I think I broke practically every rule in Gibbs' book. Do you honestly think he'll let me back on the team, even if I'm able to return? And there's no guarantee I'll be a hundred percent."

"Don't worry," replied Tony moving closer. "Gibbs needs you. The temporary guy, Roger, is nothing compared to you. Let's face it, McGeek, there is no finer computer genius in all of NCIS than you. You're irreplaceable!"

McGee looked unconvinced. No one was irreplaceable. He sighed and tried to look hopeful. He wasn't sure what he'd do if he couldn't return to NCIS. He didn't ask Tony for any details on how they found him. He wasn't ready to talk about that night yet. Tony seemed to sense that and made no mention of how they came to rescue him.

Ziva and Ducky came it shortly after Tony and Abby left. McGee had a hard time looking Ducky in the eye. He knew he should have listened to Ducky and stayed in the hospital. He was sure Ducky must be furious with him.

"Timothy," said Ducky, sitting close to the young agent. "Yes, you should have stayed in the hospital, but that is all water under the bridge as it were. Now the important thing is you are alive and on the mend. NCIS is sorely lacking without your incomparable skills and we hope to have you home soon."

Ziva looked uncomfortable. "McGee…I…I am sorry we were not in time to save you. I feel we have let you down."

Tim blinked at her in surprise. "Ziva, none of it was your fault! It was all me. I went off by myself and tracked down Grimes. I should never have gone without back-up." He shook his head ruefully. "I'll admit, I wasn't exactly thinking straight, but you and Tony and Gibbs did all you could. If it weren't for you guys, I'd be dead right now. I thank you for that."

Ziva gave him a small smile, but her eyes were still sad. She gently squeezed his hand. "Get well soon, McGee. If I do not have someone besides Tony to talk to, I soon will go crazy."

After Ducky and Ziva left, exhaustion overwhelmed McGee. It took so little to tire him out he thought in frustration. He closed his eyes for what he hoped would be just for a moment, but was soon fast asleep.

Except for the nightlight, it was dark in the room when he awakened once more. He sighed and rubbed his eyes. He had so little sense of time these days. A small cough caught his attention and he froze. For a moment, he thought it must be Grimes, come to finish him off. But Grimes was dead, wasn't he?

"Tim?" McGee felt a flood of relief. It was Gibbs' voice. A moment later, the man appeared from where he'd been sitting in the corner.

"Hello, Boss."

Gibbs looked older somehow. He smiled down at his injured agent. "How you doing, Tim?"

"Good." Tim paused, not sure where to go from here. "Boss…I…uh, I just want to say how sorry I am about what happened."

Gibbs stared at him a moment then held up a finger. "Rule Number six."

McGee frowned in confusion for a moment, then looked down. "Never say you're sorry. It's a sign of weakness."

Gibbs nodded then smiled. "Tim, I screwed up. I did so many things wrong, I should have my own head on a plate. However, you should have told me everything that happened, including being tortured by Grimes."

McGee's eyes went wide. "How…?"

"We heard him admit to doing it. I should never have let you leave the hospital. It was obvious you were a mess. I just didn't realized how big of one. I was just too sure that you would behave like you normally would. That you would follow orders. That was a huge mistake." He sighed and looked away for a minute, remembering the pain of seeing McGee lying on the floor in a pool of blood.

He looked at McGee again. The younger man was staring at his hands. "McGee, I need you. You are one of the most gifted tech guys I know. I didn't realize just how important that was until you weren't there. Roger is all well and good but he doesn't have the instincts that you have. I _need _that. I need _you_. Back at NCIS."

McGee's mouth opened then shut several times. "But Boss… how could you ever trust me again?"

"Because McGee, I know you. You weren't in your right mind when you went to that plant. Plus, you learn from your mistakes. I would trust you with my life, McGee. I want you back as soon as possible."

McGee looked thoughtful. "I want to come back. I just didn't think you'd want me after…well after all that happened."

Gibbs placed a hand on McGee's shoulder. "Tim, the sooner we get you back, the better." He now hesitated, looking grim. "Tim, there's something else you need to know. Something very important."

McGee frowned, and watched Gibbs expectantly. He felt a cold knot forming in his stomach.

"Grimes is alive."

Tim's mouth went dry and the room spun around him. He closed his eyes and began to shake. _No! That was impossible. Grimes had to be dead!_

"Tim? Tim! You okay?"

Tim felt Gibbs grab him by the shoulders.

"C'mon Tim. Look at me. We've got him. Grimes is in jail. He's not going to hurt you or Sarah ever again. It's going to be okay."

Tim slowly opened his eyes. He suddenly felt more tired than ever. He looked at Gibbs with a mournful expression. "No Boss. It's not. As long as Grimes is still alive, he'll always be a threat."

Gibbs sighed. There was some truth to that. "Maybe, but for now, he's out of the picture. He's still recovering from his own injuries and believe me, it'll be a cold day in hell before he's ever freed. So, try not to worry." Gibbs turned away and picked something up. "Here. Abby sent this over. She thought you might need some entertainment."

McGee's eyes widened in surprise. It was a laptop computer.

"She said she loaded your favorite games on it. Figured it would be a good way to start working your brain again."

McGee gave a small chuckle and he gently caressed the cool surface of the computer's metallic case. He was actually pleased. Computers were his life. "Tell her thanks."

Gibbs nodded. "Tim, again, I don't want you to worry about Grimes. He's in jail and will be there for a long time. You concentrate on getting well. I mean what I said. I need you."

"Thanks, Boss." McGee ducked his head and watched as Gibbs left the room. He sighed deeply. He knew he'd never be able to let his guard down knowing that Grimes was still alive. He didn't care if the bastard was in the most secure prison on earth, Tim would worry.

He now looked at the computer sitting on his little table and smiled. _You're the best, Abby. Let's see what we've got here. _He carefully opened the laptop and switched it on. It booted up quickly, but as McGee watched all the little icons appear across the screen, he started to frown. He knew what they were, but suddenly their meanings were lost to him. With a lurch of his stomach, he realized he had no idea what to do next. He stared at the screen, at the keyboard, panic beginning to escalate. It was if he had never used a computer in his life. Nothing made any sense. He was completely lost. McGee's greatest fear had come true.

**TO BE CONTINUED**

**A/N**: I debated long and hard about how I wanted to end this story. One version had Grimes dead and everybody back to normal. However, I decided that it shouldn't be all so neatly tied up. Not yet, anyway. I wondered what would happen if McGee lost his ability to use computers? So, I thought perhaps a sequel was in order. And if I was going to write a sequel, it might be handy to have Grimes still around . It will probably be awhile before I can write that sequel as I have some other things I need to finish up, but the ideas are rolling around in my head.

I want to thank all of you for faithfully reading my story and sticking with it to the end. I appreciate the comments and reviews. Writers always love feedback! I hope to see you again in the future.


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